


Lothíriel Awakens

by Spake2121



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, First Love, Longing, Love at First Sight, Lust, Romance, Shyness, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2020-03-19 16:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 104,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18973621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spake2121/pseuds/Spake2121
Summary: I was not a woman well-named. My mother may have planned for a 'flower-garlanded maiden' but I was raised by my aunt Ivriniel who had no time for flowers or dancing or poetry or dresses. Certainly there was nothing in my education to prepare me for love at first sight...





	1. Chapter 1

Never will I forget my first glimpse of Edoras.

Amrothos had knocked on the carriage door in the early morning and when I'd opened up, he'd held out a hand and with a practiced movement swinging me up from the carriage step to sit behind him.

"Look Lothíriel."

The city roofs seemed ablaze in the brilliant morning sun. It was early enough that some morning mist still clung to the knees of the horses and swirled in the wake of the carriage, as we wound down a mountainous path protected by the tall coniferous trees on the hillside from the dawning day. But across the wide expanse of marsh and meadow that lay between us and our destination stretched an endless sea of blue sky more brilliantly blue than any ocean. And beyond it the city was like a crown set upon the great dome of the hill. The most brilliant jewel was the hall of Meduseld, shining out like a beacon.

I shivered. The flaming city made me think of the lighted beacons that had called the Rohirrim to our aid during the War of the Ring. These men had fought and died to free Minas Tirith from siege, honoring their duty when it was sure that Denethor would not have done the same had the message for help come in the other direction. I had heard the horns of Rohan from the depths of the Houses of Healing and it had been as though a fever had suddenly broke within me—despair and terror ebbing suddenly and unexpectedly away to make room for a little trickle of hope: sensation returning to my body and reason to my mind after days of nothing but destroying fear.

"It's beautiful." I murmured to my brother.

"It is that. But practically impregnable as well." He returned.

"Oh?"

"The fence around the outer walls could be breached but the path up to the stronghold is only wide enough for a few to cross at a time. A long siege might work but even the stream that feeds the city flows down from the mountains directly into the stronghold from the snows of the mountain above. Most invaders would assume that they depend on the river Snowbourn for water—and indeed some of the city does in times of peace but there would be no way to cut them off from water by force. And the Rohirrim of course lay in many provisions of other kinds for just such a siege."

"I suppose it must be so to have lasted so long. I read last night that it was built by Brego son of Eorl the Young in the third age and it has never been taken by force."

I had been entertaining myself with a variety of books on Rohan during our journey, including all the studies of their history and geography I could lay my hands on, as well as a primer on the basics of the language. The grammar and vocabulary came easily but the pronunciation remained a puzzle. I had heard some Rohirrim speak in the days after the final battle—mostly to each other in the Houses of Healing as they recovered—and I knew enough to know that my own vocalizations did not quite sound the same as theirs but couldn't quite work out in what manner to change.

"Only I've never been able to understand how they get water in the winter of a siege. Surely the mountain streams all freeze."

"Over the surface they do. But even a stream that appears frozen can have a deep and living torrent beneath. I expect it is these deep waters that feed the city."

"How fascinating. I should like to see these streams. Do you think there is a way up into the mountains to see the headwaters?"

"I am not sure. Perhaps Éomer King, our host, could tell us."

"Will you ask him? I should be delighted to know the answer. Perhaps he will take you and you can describe the site to me afterward."

"Perhaps he would take us both up."

"Perhaps." Though I knew better. Ivriniel would never allow me to trek into the wilderness to find the source of some mountain spring. Besides surely it would only be accessible by horseback, and a difficult ride at that. I was not sure I should be able given that I could barely manage sitting behind Amrothos and had never managed more than a pony when I was a little girl by myself.

Amrothos seemed to perceive my thoughts however because he didn't pursue the idea of the adventure. Instead he said, in a remorseful and consoling tone, "When we get closer I can point out some of the other fortifications I've been told about as well."

"That would be very kind."

"Faramir I'm sure would be pleased to tell you about it."

"I'm sure he shall have rather more important things to do during the week of his wedding feast than entertain his bookish and inconsequential cousin."

"Bookish certainly, but inconsequential never Lothi. Besides you know how fond Faramir has always been of you."

"Like any of the rest of you, always happy to see me when you have a cut that needs mending or need a tea to counteract too much mead from the night before." I said with a smile. "But even you, soft heart though you have for me, must admit that I am not known for my popularity at parties."

Like all the men in my family Faramir treated me with the uncomplicated warmth and fondness that is usually reserved for little girls. In my adolescence I'd sprouted up almost as tall as most of them and my shape had become womanly but the world around me seemed not to perceive the changes my small mirror did. There was something about me that remained to all who saw me the shy, eager-to-please child they had come to expect from me.

My season to be presented to the court of Minas Tirith as a woman had come and gone without anyone remarking on it. Traditionally a woman from a house such as Dol Amroth would have been taken to the court to be introduced to society as a lady and a potential wife to the eligible men my age. But when I'd reached the age, no one had suggested to Ivriniel that I might need different clothes or to be taken out into society to find a husband, least of all myself. I was keenly aware that even if I had been bought the proper clothes and taken to the proper places there was little chance of my making a good impression. I didn't know how to dance or converse with society, the little enough contact I'd had with it had impressed that on me with certainty. Other ladies my age had an ease with each other and with men that I simply did not share.

Which was why, eager though I was to see Rohan, I was full of trepidation of the coming week of festivities around Faramir's wedding. It was of course to be the society event of a lifetime, with all the great houses Minas Tirith making the journey to see him wed the slayer of the Witch-king. The scion of the house of the Steward of Gondor wedding the hero of the Ring War was both a symbol of the renewal of bonds between Rohan and Gondor and the joining of two great bloodlines. It was an event so big even Ivriniel couldn't reject the invitation.

Nor me neither.

In a moment of panic and folly, I had managed to persuade her that I needed two new dresses for the occasion. The nearly blind old tailor that she had used since I was a child had changed practically nothing to the style he cut for me since I'd come out of girlhood. Most of my wardrobe was of a simple, girlish design with loose, practical sleeves, no corset and little ornamentation. For the occasion I had managed to persuade him to use silk instead of cotton and at least adapt it into the more popular style for women of the time—thin sleeves with a small corset emphasizing my small waist and womanly shape. I'd tried it on only once in the shop, having no idea how to manage the corset myself and no maid to help me manage it.

I'd blushed when looking at myself in the glass, feeling absolutely ridiculous. Though I loved the feel of the silk on my skin and the way the cloth pressed close to my skin and breast I couldn't imagine what my brothers would say should I ever wear it in public. The teasing from my brothers would be merciless.

No, I had decided, it was not a good idea to wear such a dress. Calling attention to myself was the last thing that I wanted this week, and such a sharp change in my appearance would do nothing but invite remark and ridicule. So the dresses had gone to the bottom of my cases and for once I was thankful that it would be unlike Ivriniel to even remember that I had asked for them.

"Lothíriel!" Even muffled from the carriage my Aunt Ivriniel's voice was like the crack of a whip. I had been careful to open the carriage door quietly when slipping out but so something else must have woken her.

I sighed. "Well perhaps when we breakfast then you can point the fortifications out to me."

He swung me back to the running edge of the carriage and I opened the door and slipped in. On the bench across from where I had been curled up my Aunt gazed at me disapprovingly. She was a tall woman, like all the women of Dol Almroth, nearly a half a head or more above most men but still an inch or two shorter than me, and slender despite her age. She had a an abundance of silver hair with only a hint of the rich dark black it must have been in youth that she invariably wore piled like a crown around her head. But for all of that it was her eyes that made her truly striking: fierce and gray-blue they seemed to announce to the world the iron will and a fierce, unyielding and powerful intellect that lay behind them.

She had never married, instead devoting herself to what she considered more serious pursuits of scholarship of all kinds but most particularly in the question of medicine. It had long been a peculiarity of the line of women in our family that we were known as great healers. Mithrellas, the first princess of Dol Amroth had been a companion of Nimrodel when she fled Lorien and it was said that she possessed great healing power. The family legend maintained that any of the ailing whom she cried over was sure to have their spirit travel to the undying lands after their passage. Indeed local superstition still held that our tears held power and the women of the house Dol Amroth were all trained as healers, and all taught to weep over the patients we could not save to give comfort and succor to their families.

In Ivriniel however this family tradition had truly bloomed. She was ceaseless in her dedication to uncovering or learning all uses for medicinal plants. She had dedicated years of her life to the pursuit and written more than a score of books on the subject. Though I had heard she had been a serious beauty in her youth there had never been any question that she would marry. Her love for books and learning had been a jealous partner in her life—leaving no room for other pursuits.

Which was why she'd had a rather limited idea of what to do with me when she'd first met me, a somber and grieving eight-year old. When my mother had been unexpectedly taken by fever three weeks prior Ivriniel had been called back to her childhood home in Dol Amroth from Minas Tirith to help my father raise me, and provide suitable female guidance for me. What constituted "suitable," "guidance" or even "female" when it came from Ivriniel was anything but conventional however.

While other girls my age learned to dance, to dress well, sew prettily and make polite conversation- accomplishments which might someday reward them with a husband- I had instead been learning midwifery, surgery, how to make and administer herbs for ailments of all kinds. In Ivriniel's way of thinking the purpose of any exercise was to search out the raw materials she needed for her unguents and cures and the purpose of any emotions were to give succor to her patients. If playing a harp made her herbs grow faster she would have taught me that. If stitching anything but a wound would have made me a better surgeon she would have made me embroider until my fingertips were raw. If dancing or conversing charmingly could have taught me to be a better birth assistant she never would have let me stop practicing.

Perhaps the only feminine wile, to a truly cynical view, she'd ever taught me was how to cry on command.

She'd once caught me crying one afternoon several months after the death of my mother, folded over and bent double after simply collapsing when we'd been served her favorite cakes with our tea. She hadn't spoken but watched as I nearly choked on my grief, wallowing in the impossibility of going back to the time before. The before of my mother being alive and when every breath did not seem to catch in some torturous mechanism in my throat. When my first thoughts in the morning hadn't been the desperate hope that somehow, in some way it had all been a dream.

"There's no use crying Lothíriel." She'd told me when I'd been calmed down a bit, or at least my sobs had dribbled out to stuttering inhalations of pain. "There's no work that's done with these tears, no motor that they turn or strength that they give you. All it gets you is salt down the front of your gown. Save them for when they can help others."

And now I couldn't even do that.

I had never had trouble crying over our lost patients. It was expected of us as healers and we were all more or less adept at it. I'd never had Ivriniel's easy way with memorizing the looks and uses of plants but tears and logic had always come with facility. Ivriniel told me that it was a skill she had taken years to perfect, the mechanics of getting her eyes to water on command but for me it had been all but natural—a bursting torrent of emotions I'd had to harness if anything. But since the last battle my torrent had dried.

Over the men in the Houses of Healing I had not been able to weep. Some other emotion had slithered in between me and the fallen men and stood like a Nazgul guarding the corpses from me. I'd felt trapped, like an insect in amber, frozen in time and robbed of my ability to feel. I had read in a book once that certain frogs of the Northern lands could spend the winter in a frozen pond, only to wake when spring came. That was how I'd felt—frozen in a still water but with no spring in sight. I'd cut my hand and dripped blood over their chests as recompense. If I could not offer my salt to these men who had fallen to save my home, my iron was the least I could do I felt. Often my blood mingled with their own on smashed thoraxes and open wounds and I would never forget the sight of it.

"Edoras is in sight." I said with a small smile, hoping to appease her. "We'll be there by very soon, I expect."

"I see."

"Surely it will be a relief to you to get out of this carriage for a while."

"It will be a relief to unpack our herbs. I shall never rest easy until I see the glass I brought has been preserved. I wouldn't have believed it possible that the roads here would be so rough. They must be in shattered pieces by now."

"Don't despair Aunt, I packed them very carefully."

She blew out a breath. "We shall see."

I fiddled with my gloves and said nothing. She had been complaining about the roads and the damage to her fungi collection since we'd crossed the Mering Stream. I had noticed very little difference between the roads of Gondor and Rohan but my Aunt was convinced that the rocky soil of this wild country was ill tamed and built for nothing so much as ruining her specimens.

"Now Lothíriel, since I see you're awake and clearly bored as you're stepping out to ride with your brother, we should put your time to good use. Please recite for me all the uses of the belladonna family. You may begin with Atropa Belladonna and progress alphabetically."

Dutifully, I began. "Atropa Belladonna, or A Belladonna can be used in a variety of ways. For those whose pulse is too slow a tincture may be brewed that allows us to bring the speed more into harmony. For those who suffer from putrid lung..."

Soon I was hoarse and only up to Datura Belladonna and the dangers therein, by the time we reached the gates of Edoras. Also I had the same headache I always had when Ivriniel and I sunk into these discussions. Whatever I said, nothing was ever good enough. There was always a detail to correct or a fault she found in my recitation.

It was a relief when we reached the steps of Meduseld and the carriage rolled to a stop. Amrothos dismounted and helped Ivriniel out, taking her arm and leaving me to stroll behind as the two of them mounted together.

To my surprise it was Lady Éowyn herself who stood at the top of the steps, a chalice of mead in her hands. I had read about the tradition in Rohan of welcoming guests with a drink before they crossed the threshold but had never imaged that Éowyn herself would greet us. The formal feast to mark the beginning of the wedding festivities was still several days away and we had only traveled so early because Ivriniel was averse to traveling in the congestion of the roads that was sure to happen.

Amrothos bowed and my Aunt swept a very neat and practiced curtsey which Éowyn returned. I bobbed my own wobbly one back.

"Well met Lady Ivriniel Lord Amrothos and Lady Lothíriel. Welcome to Meduseld."

"You do us an honor to greet us personally Lady Éowyn." My aunt replied.

"Renowned healers such as the two of you, and a fighter as strong as Lord Amrothos deserve nothing less than the warmest welcome to our land. We are privileged to have you grace our hall and my celebration."

Éowyn passed the mead first to Ivriniel, then Amrothos, then me and we drank in turn. The mead was rich and sweet, speaking of a summer of wild flowers for the bees to feast on. I hadn't tasted such a rich flavor before and found myself looking forward to trying it again.

"We will only be a small party at supper tonight I'm afraid. My brother and Faramir are riding back from Aldburg this morning and should arrive shortly from what I hear. Éomer will be glad to see you again Amrothos."

"As I will him."

We had been given rooms within Meduseld, an honor given how many nobles would be flooding into the city: most would have to stay in the inns and taverns either in Edoras or in the surrounding area. I was shown to my room and introduced to my new maid, a slender girl a few years older than me with fine features except for a scar that ran from the right corner of her mouth down past her ear. She bobbed a curtsey.

"I'm afraid Gallen does not speak Westron Lady Lothíriel," Éowyn apologized. "But she's very bright and I'm sure she can do all that is necessary for you."

"Not at all Éowyn, I'm sure most other ladies would bring their own maid, only I find I have no need of one at home. It's very kind of you to accommodate me with one here. Besides, I have been practicing my Rohirric. It will be a pleasure to have some impetus to actually use it. Only please do ask her not to laugh too much at my accent." I addressed the girl. "Westu hal Gallen, I am Lady Lothíriel." I tried in stilted Rohirric.

The girl smiled and curtseyed deeply. "Westu hal Lady Lothíriel, please be welcomed in Edoras." She spoke slowly and clearly, not as if to an idiot or a child but only enunciating her words to let me catch the meaning of each before proceeding to the next.

"I think we shall get along quite wonderfully," I told Éowyn. "Thank you very much indeed."

With Ivriniel safely napping, as she had not slept well on the road, I was free to spend the day how I pleased and, as could have been predicted, went immediately to the library. It was a much more profitable experience than I expected. Not only was the size of it quite larger than I would have imagined and almost all of the volumes in Westron but the topics within were largely unfamiliar to me: from the horse breeding practices of the Mark to sword-smithing and battle tactics almost none of these titles were in my Aunt's library which was much more flower and herb based.

I spent a delightful morning perusing the titles before I found a title called Strategies of the Haradrim and Their Defeat and had determined to return to my room with it to read until supper. However on leaving the library I found that I was rathe disoriented in the new environs. Eventually I managed to locate an exterior door leading to a garden and had resigned myself to walking around to the front of the house for a fresh start on locating my room or at least perhaps someone to help when I heard the sound of muffled swordplay that told me I was near the training grounds and decided to see if Amrothos was practicing.

A screen of trees prevented me from seeing the combatants before I arrived but I pushed though the wooden gate and into the spectator circle surrounding a sanded flat area used for training or, more rarely, duels of honor. I recognized Amrothos's armor at once but I recognized the other as well: the Lion of Rohan.

My breath stilled in my throat.

My brother was a rare hand with a sword but I had never seen a man move with the grace of Éomer. He wore no helm and his long hair was tied back, his face locked in intense expression. Every individual line of him was taught with intention and power and he and Amrothos moved through an impossibly fast series of play and counter-play. The great two-handed broadswords would have been too heavy for me to even lift but they wielded them as if they were mere fencing sticks and the flash of them in the sun was an incredible sight. Breath left my lungs.

I had never witnessed anything so beautiful in my life.

I had seen a fair bit of these practices. Ivriniel often sent me with the men of my family to tournaments of all kinds. Even with blocked swords there was sure to be someone who didn't get out of the way fast enough and caught a wicked blow that might need our tending. Consequently I'd seen almost as much of this kind of dueling as any other lady of my standing. I'd never found it anything but irritating, something which created work for me that might be avoided if only all these silly men didn't need to prove themselves with sword or bow.

Before that day I had never taken an interest.

The bout seemed to go on forever and I could have watched it for even longer. I was transfixed, with one hand still on the gate. But finally Éomer slid the padded edge of his sword between a guard block that came a second too late and closed the distance, knocking Amrothos back onto the soft sand.

With a whoop my brother was back on his feet, shaking Éomer's hand delightedly. "I say Éomer, I'd forgotten what a damned fast hand you are. I cannot think how you managed that, I was fighting at my best today by my measure."

The other man smiled. "A lucky blow is all."

Amrothos caught sight of me and smiled, coming over to my end of the arena with a smile. "Hello Lothíriel! Come to see your brother get knocked on his... to the ground?"

My voice caught in my throat, hands still clinging to the gait. I wracked my brain for words, sounds, anything intelligible. I didn't want to be the focus of his attention, plain and drab as I was I hadn't wanted him to notice me at all. His gaze and notice seemed a torment and all I could think about was escaping it before my heart truly did beat out of my chest.

"Yes I thought I might find you here. I only came to say hello." I managed.

"Éomer, this is my sister Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. Lothíriel this is Éomer King of Rohan."

I managed to release my grip on the gate and drop a wobbly curtsey. "A pleasure to meet you my lord."

He bowed. "You as well, lady. Have you just arrived this morning with your brother?"

"Indeed."

"I hope you're not to weary from the travel."

"Not at all. Thank you for your inquiry, my lord."

Amrothos turned back to Éomer. "You simply must show me that dastardly backhanded slash you were using to counter my thrust at the end there..." I turned to head back to the castle, heart still pounding. "You're more than welcome to watch another bout Lothíriel." Amrothos called after me.

"Not at all Amrothos, I only meant to say hello. I've found a book that I want to start before dinner."

"Do you know your way back to your rooms, lady?"

"Yes of course, thank you my lord."

Back in my room I turned the pages of the book but found that I comprehended nothing. All I could think about was replaying over and over the lines of his face, the raw power and beauty of his movement. I had never been a girl who thought overmuch of men, less still one that mooned over them. I had of course imagined myself in love at various times in my teenage years, little tender feelings for a neighbor's son or the handsomest of my father's knights. But these childish fancies had seemed academic even to me. I'd had tried to nurture them, to grow them into something more than the mild interests they had been but to no avail.

I could not explain what it was about him that so sparked something in me. The rush of feelings had been so unexpected and so overwhelming. It was as if I had stepped into what I'd thought was a stream only to find it a roaring river that had swept me away. I had read widely enough and been raised near enough animals to understand what the throbbing feeling between my legs meant but had never imagined I would feel such a thing. Was it not the man who was meant to lust after the woman? I'd never heard it described in poetry or literature of a woman who had impure thoughts towards a man.

And yet, I knew I wanted to be bedded by him. There was no use pretending to myself that I did not. I could so clearly imagine him pushing me back on a bed, hands tangled in my hair. I could imagine my own hands running over the hard planes of his body as he took me. The violence I'd seen in the bout, I wanted somehow turned towards me. I wanted him to grip my hips or hair with the same furious will he used to guide his sword.

At that imagery I almost laughed aloud. I would have mocked any poet who used such an obvious metaphor as a sword for manhood and yet the parallel was there in my mind. Plunged into. I wished to be plunged into.

These were my thoughts as I bathed and got ready for supper. Gallen had aired out one of my new, more mature dresses but I waved her off, pointing instead to my habitual black, maidenly cut. She frowned but obeyed, not having time or perhaps words or patience to argue. She did however insist on brushing my hair into a more elegant style than I usually wore, two braids she wove and then looped them together into a circlet over the crown of my hair.

I was almost the last to arrive but managed to slip in almost unnoticed. There were only twenty or so people in a small parlors waiting for dinner to be announced in the hall. I knew only my family, as I had expected, but I managed to find Amrothos, speaking with Faramir.

"Ah, cousin! You are a sight for sore eyes." Faramir greeted me with a fond hug, lifting me up so I was a head taller than him. "And how you've grown little Lothi!"

I laughed as he set me down with a kiss on the cheek. "Hello cousin. And a thousand blessings to you and Éowyn. May you have many long and fruitful years together."

"So formal! But thank you for your kind wishes. Now, what have you brought me?"

As a child Faramir had never forgotten to bring me gifts when he visited Dol Amroth. Then, at ten or eleven, I had stubbornly decided that it was not for him to spoil me but rather for me to spoil him. I had for years surprised him with little gifts I'd found of wood sanded by the sea or sea-shells strung together on a string or the like. I had felt foolish preparing a gift for him but was gratified that he remembered the tradition. From one pocket I brought out a little parcel and handed it over. "Seeds from the best tomato plant I've ever grown. I've wrapped them in wax paper so they will be good for a year or more if you have no time to plant them soon. Only sprout them first in a little pot and then transfer the young plants once they're just to your ankles or so."

"Ah! A very fine present indeed." He folded them into his pocket and planted a warm kiss of thanks on my cheek. "You do spoil me."

Dinner was served and we sat to table. I was seated almost directly across from Éomer but managed say almost nothing to him. He asked if this was my first time visiting Rohan, I said it was. He asked if my rooms were comfortable, I said they were. And then he turned to continue his conversation with my father.

The conversation around me faded from my ability to comprehend and I looked down at my plate, forcing myself to focus on the mechanical motion of eating. I tasted nothing of the fine venison in wine sauce, nor the wine, nor the sweet cream and cake that came after. Even with my head bent to keep him out of my vision as much as possible his presence seemed like a physical force on me, radiating out from him. I knew where he was without trying to calculate, the exact distance between the nearest point of him to me. It as a relief to finally be excused to return to my room and feel the overwhelming sensation fade.

Gallen helped me undress and I lay awake for many hours. When sleep finally did come, I dreamed of rough hands caressing me from stem to stern and woke with a tortuous unfulfilled need.


	2. Chapter 2

I was lingering over the morning meal the next day with the book when Gallen burst into the room. She was holding a note and looking rather distressed. She spoke so quickly that my rudimentary understanding of the language was able only to pick out a few words. "My lady... baby... sister...trouble."

The few words of Rohirric I knew were enough to get my own pulse racing.

I was already on my feet and bustling toward the door. "I shall get my bag. Run ahead to the stables and ask them to ready the carriage for me." I tried again in Rohirric but she was already out of the door, seeming to take my meaning.

The day was as clear a blue sky as could be imagined but with a snapping wind that put pink in my cheeks as I ran down to the stables. A struggling baby was one thing but I'd never seen this woman nor felt her child before. Usually I knew the women whose births I attended and could predict whose baby would be a struggle, whose was breach or too large and prepare for what was to come. This crisis I was not prepared for and I could feel my palms beginning to sweat. I wished like anything I could have sent word for Ivriniel. I'd never faced such a thing alone. But she'd left that morning on one of her walking trips to find herbs and hadn't told me even which direction she would be walking.

As I neared the stable Gallen came out again. She was speaking fast but she had no need to explain. I could see from the open door behind her that the carriage was gone. Ivriniel must have taken it this morning on her searching for plants. Another could perhaps be brought but how long would that take? And any delay would be unacceptable for a woman and child in danger.

In my broken Rohirric I managed "where is your sister?"

"Far. Too far to go on foot."

"Valar! Gallen I cannot ride." I swore in Westron.

"What are we to do my lady?" She seemed to know the trouble, even if she did not understand the words.

I bit my lip, thinking frantically. Behind Gallen I could see riders practicing in a paddock and even from this distance Éomer was impossible to miss. Something about the grace of him and the brash way he handled his horse was unmistakable. Before I had time to think, I was striding forward toward him.

I ducked under the paddock fence and almost fell, having to catch myself on one hand on the beaten earth. The ground was so trod by horse hooves that it was uneven and difficult to traverse.

"Lady Lothiriel where are you going?" Gallen called after me, drawing the attention of the men. She'd followed me as far as the edge of the paddock but no farther, seemingly stunned in place by my actions. A rider shouted in Rohirric something and the rest of them reigned up. I tried to struggle forward again and then gave up, waving at the men to approach. Éomer broke away from the group and approached me on horseback. His face was stern and I wondered if he remembered who I was. I doubted it. My dark hair would give me away as a lady of Gondor but there were already a few within the city and there was nothing remarkable about the words we had exchanged. If anything he might remember me for my unstylish dress but I doubted he would have remarked on anything else.

He dismounted a few steps off and left his horse to cross the rest of the terrain to me on foot. "Lady you should not be in the paddock while we are practicing, it's dangerous." He said with clear disapproval.

"I'm… I… that is," his tone set me to babbling. "It's only that I need your help my lord. There's a woman in trouble and I'm a healer. I'm Lothiriel, Ivrineil's niece and..."

His frown deepened. "A woman in trouble?"

"My maid... Gallen, it's her sister whose child has come. I think she is in distress."

He called out to Gallen in Rohirric and she answered in the same language. They seemed to discuss the matter for a short while and then he turned back to me.

"Come we shall saddle you a horse at once."

"I... I... my lord, that is... I cannot."

"You cannot what?"

"I cannot... ride. My last mount was a pony when I was a mere girl." I said, blushing crimson. It was fashionable for women to be good at riding even in Minas Tirith, I couldn't imagine what the horse lord thought of a lady who couldn't even sit a mount.

"You never learned to ride?"

"No my lord. I either sit behind one of my brothers or take the carriage."

To my surprise his mouth softened into an unexpectedly warm smile. "Well then, you'd better hold on tight Lady Lothiriel. Firefoot is a rather tall mount."

I swallowed though my mouth was suddenly dry. Fear was a tangled mess that seemed to be writhing in my stomach and breast: fear for the woman and her child, fear of the ride to come on an unknown horse... and fear of this handsome man, kind and noble, whose attention was suddenly fixed almost entirely on me. He didn't remember me from the night before, I was sure of it. He might have worked out who I was, remembered my name, but he wouldn't have remembered speaking with me. This though, this he would remember. It made me want to crawl out of my skin to have him scrutinize me so intensely.

I wished that my hair was up in more than just a simple braid, that my clothes weren't so unfashionable and childish or that the only remarkable thing about me wasn't the box of medicines at my hip. Would that my skin wasn't so unfashionably pale... That my cheeks and lips were pinker, my eyes brighter... the list could go on endlessly. But what it all amounted to in the end was the intense desire not to be the plain, studious and unconfident little creature that I truly was.

But there was no time to indulge that fear.

I followed him to the horse, indeed a massive black brute of a thing. Without a word his hands went around my waist, almost big enough to encircle it entirely, and then he lifted me easily behind the saddle and with a practiced movement swung up himself. "Put your arm about my waist lady, I'm going to go rather fast. To hear your maid tell it her sister is not in a good state."

I swallowed and obeyed. Beneath my hands I could feel his broad chest and the firm muscles of his abdomen and tried not to shiver. I'd assumed the same position with Amrothos scores of times of course but this was utterly different. I was so intensely aware of his proximity it made it difficult to think, to breath, to control the wild out of control beating of my heart.

What an idiot I was. I didn't need Ivriniel to tell me I was indulging the most appalling aspect of maidenhood.

"Do you know where we're going?"

"I know the village. I shall ask for direction once we are there."

"Alright."

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

I had to choke the word out.

We weren't out of the paddock before I had to close my eyes and press my face against his back. The dizzying height and speed were too much. I knew he must be able to guess what I was doing, but there was no question of toughing it out for the sake of pride. I simply could not endure the sight of the city flashing passed at such a speed. My other arm went around his waist and a breathed in the smell of him—fresh soap, leather, pine and horses and something else that was masculine and wild and made my head swim and something in my loins tighten. I'd never been this close to a man who was not my kin and for a small moment I told myself to enjoy it as it was not likely to come again. My heart beat a tattoo in my chest as we flew out of the gate and onto the plane of Rohan.

I chanced a glance up and sucked in a breath. The wild blue sky and the mountains beyond the plain were incredibly beautiful, flashing in the morning sun and for a second I could imagine myself as the heroine of some great poem—whipping across the plains with my lover, free from convention or fear. From somewhere came a whoop of pure joy, a riotous little noise of pleasure and freedom. It was only when Éomer glanced back at me that I realized, stunned, that it had come from my own mouth.

His own lips quirked up into a small knowing smile and I realized to my surprise that I was smiling too. He spurred the horse faster and we flew full out across the heather.

The village we arrived at was small and it took Éomer no time at all to find the proper house. One shouted question in Rohirric had us directed immediately to the place. He dismounted first and then swung me down after him. He took my hand and led me to the door, pushing it open without knocking. There were three men standing in the sitting room and instantly I knew we had the right house—all had the familiar, agonized and impotent look of men waiting to be told the fate of a loved one in childbirth. Éomer greeted them in rapid Rohirric but a scream from one of the rooms let me know where I was needed.

"Ask them to bring me two basins and a kettle of boiled water and all the clean linen that they have!"

I had my hand almost on the door when I realized that Éomer had followed me.

"You cannot come in." I said when I realized he intended to follow me. "You're her king... a man."

"You cannot speak Rohirric and you will need someone to translate for you."

I opened my mouth to argue but realized he was right of course. It was impossible for me to imagine a man in the birthing room but he would be needed. "Have you seen blood be..." I began to ask but stopped myself, realizing how ridiculous the question was.

He seemed to know what I was going to ask. "I shall try not to faint." His impish smile was back.

The woman was on the bed and already I could tell the labor had been long and protracted. She was panting and pale and it wasn't she who had screamed it seemed but the other woman (her mother by her age and similar features) in the room who was frantically trying to shake her back to consciousness as her eyes had slid closed momentarily though they opened again as we came in. Beneath her the sheets were bright crimson- far too much blood for a normal birth. Éomer began to speak but I wouldn't have understood if he'd been speaking the clearest Westron. Time seemed to slow and I felt as if I'd been plunged suddenly underwater, so intense was the fear that gripped me.

But my body reacted without hesitation. I was on the bed with the woman before I could think, opening the box, getting on my apron and getting out what I knew I would need. "Ask her mother to fetch the water from downstairs."

The pulse at her wrist was rapid but strong and I knew women could lose a vast amount of blood in birth and survive. I cleaned my hands with alcohol and wiped them clean on a boiled cloth I kept for just this occasion."Tell her I mean no harm and that I'm a healer. I need to check on her and her baby."

I was not surprised to feel the baby was breech. The smooth lobes of the bottom were all the I could feel in the canal, trapped at the narrowest part of her pelvis. "Her baby comes feet first. She will need to push when I tell her to. Does she have the strength?"

"She says she does."

"Alright then. Ask her to push now."

I had never delivered a breech baby by myself but I'd seen Ivriniel do it before a number of times. The hardest part was waiting for the buttocks to deliver, she had once told me. Trying to extract the legs before their time does more harm than good. So I made myself wait, giving the woman some serum of poppy and coaching her to push with each contraction. I cleansed my hands and my instruments with the hot water that had been brought and laid out a clean cloth beneath her.

Once the buttocks were out I delivered the legs one at a time. The baby was fully grown and the woman a new mother I suspected and though she bled much and it was tight work she never more than grimaced or panted in pain as I worked to extract first one leg, then the other. I wrapped the infant in a towel to keep him warm and then guided rotated him to deliver first one shoulder then the other. "Ask her mother to apply pressure to her stomach while I deliver the head." I commanded. I guided the woman's hand to where I wanted her to push.

They did as I was bid and for an instant as I struggled to find the proper hold on the baby's head I wondered if he was already dead. My fingers groped for his unseen cheek bones and I wondered if the eyes above them would ever open. He was so limp in my arms as I guided him out I feared it was so. But then another contraction came, her mother pushed down and I managed to wiggle him free. For a long moment there was stillness in the room, then a vigorous cry burst forth and the air seemed to leave our collective lungs. I signed with relief and nearly sagged with it. But of course my work was not done. I made quick work of clamping and severing the umbilical cord, then wrapped him loosely and placed him on the mother's breast. "Into her gown with him and to the breast. It will make the next part less bloody and easier for her."

But the woman's mother hadn't needed to be told that part for the baby was already at the breast. It was a less bloody thing to deliver the afterbirth and once I had inspected that it was whole I turned to cleaning up the new mother. I put some soothing herbs into the pot and then put fresh linen in to soak. Once it was warm I used it to gently wiped the blood from her thighs and birth canal. I had used both hands to deliver the baby and hadn't been able to support her pelvis as I normally would but I was surprised to see she hadn't torn below and would need no stitching.

I was washing my hands in warm water when I realized that at some point, Éomer had quietly excused himself. I packed up my boxes and took of my apron, folding it neatly back. It would need to be washed later. I allowed myself to go back to the bed. The new mother seemed to know what I wanted and graciously allowed me to peek at the new baby. His eyes were closed, one little hand grasping the edge of his mothers gown, suckling hard at her breast. I reached out and checked his grip, strong as could be.

"May I examine him? I tend to children too." I gestured for her to hand me the baby and she did. A quick examination revealed a vigorous young boy with no stigmata of the long birth: ten fingers, ten toes, and a full and hearty set of lungs. I passed him back to his mother and he quieted down again. "He's perfect."

She smiled at me and said something I couldn't help but know was some form of thanks. I nodded back my acknowledgment and stood. To her mother I gave a sachet with tea leaves that helped bring in the milk to new mothers and gestured to the new mother. She smelled the leaves and then smiled, seeming to know the smell of the flower. I gestured to my own bosom and then made as if they'd suddenly gotten larger and that I was holding a babe to them. "Milk for the mother and baby." I said, the only relevant words I knew in her language. She laughed heartily at that and nodded.

I went out into hall and was surprised to find the men were waiting expectantly in the hall. A young man stepped forward and asked a question. "He wants to know if the child and his wife are healthy." Éomer translated.

"They are both doing very well indeed."

This was greeted with an enormous cheer and the men fairly ran forward grasp me and bring me down bodily to the living room. One thrust a large mug of mead into my hands while the others forced me into the best seat by the fire.

My hands shook as I brought the mead to my lips to drink, the stress of the birth catching up with me at last. Éomer noticed this and put one large hand subtly on my shoulder. He did the gesture casually, as if it were natural too such strangers as we should touch and though a strange heat seemed to flow from his hand into my body, cold with fear, it only made my hand shake harder.

As they began to make toasts Éomer explained to me that as was traditional in Rohan this was the girl's parents house. She (her name was Firin) had returned to give birth on the bed she was born on and the men were her brothers, her father and of course the father of her baby. This was the first of the grandchildren and they were proposing to take me to the tavern with them to celebrate the birth with them.

"Go to a tavern with them?" I goggled. "Is it traditional for midwives in Rohan to be taken to the tavern after the birth?"

Certainly none of the husbands of the women I'd delivered before had proposed to celebrate with me. If the birth was difficult they might send me a small gift, a token of a chicken or some other small thing as thanks. But I'd never been taken to a tavern in my life.

"Traditionally women in Rohan are attended only by their families at birth so there are in fact no clear expectations of you in this setting. That being said I would imagine they would offer this or more to anyone who had done their family such a great service."

"I shouldn't rather thing that it would be proper of me to accept."

That perplexing smile was back—the one that seemed to look right through me. "Do you want to go?"

"I've taken too much of your time already King Éomer. Really it was foolish of me to ask you to take me, it was only that I didn't know any of the other riders."

"You've saved the lives of two of my countrymen this morning Lothiriel, I am at your service. And you haven't answered my question: do you want to go?"

I bit my lip. I knew Ivriniel would think it was the height of silliness. She wouldn't much care that it was hardly something proper young ladies would agree too, never having put much stock in that kind of thinking. But she would think it was a colossal waste of my time. And I was not foolish enough to think that she wouldn't find out. I would have to explain myself to her when I returned and there would be no good explanation.

And then there was the cowardly part of me that wanted to escape this situation as soon as possible. The way my stomach seemed to turn over when Éomer looked at me made me want to walk back to Edoras and hide in my room or in the library until it was time for us to return to Dol Amroth. I wasn't the kind of girl who cantered out of the gate on horseback with a handsome king to save the life of a young woman. I was meant to be back in my room, carefully drying and cataloging whatever herbs and fungi Ivriniel had found on her expedition. How had I found myself in this uncomfortable position?

But I did want to go.

I was curious to see a little more of the life of the people of Rohan, or even just what the inside of a tavern looked like and this was likely to be my only chance. But even more than that, and I was honest enough with myself to admit it, I wanted to spend just a little more time in the shining sun that was Éomer's presence.

"Are you offering to take me?"

"Yes."

"Then I want to go."

"Courageous girl. Come, they will all be thrilled you've agreed."

The ride to the tavern was only a few moments but I noticed that almost everyone in the street stared at us as we rode by. "They seem surprised to see their King, do they not see you often enough on the road? Edoras being so close by I mean." I remarked.

"It isn't me they're staring at."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Black hair here is very rare. They're surprised to see it. The children will think you're an elf, the adults will know you for a Gondorian."

"There are many Gondorians in the city now."

"But few will come to this village. Fewer still riding behind their King."

I blushed. "Oh dear. I hope I haven't put you in an awkward position. I assure you that was not my intention at all."

We had arrived and he swung down and then helped me down as well. "On the contrary. It is a thing of envy to have such a beautiful and accomplished woman ride with me."

I tried to smile but managed only a hollow mockery of the act. It was a courtly thing to say but it only served to remind me that no one could ever mistake me for a woman he could be envied for being seen with. "That's kind of you to say my lord."

"It was not my intention to be kind, only..." he began to say but was cut off when the rest of our party arrived and we were swept into the tavern.

The tavern was a riot of colors and sounds. It was small but the whole town seemed to have congregated to celebrate. News seemed to have spread quickly for we could barely make one step forward for the press of people coming to congratulate the family. On one end the tables had been cleared for an impromptu dance and despite the fact that it was only around noon, mead and ale were flowing freely. "The whole country is in a mood to celebrate this week, with the end of the war, the good harvest and Eowyn's wedding so soon. It appears that a successful birth is all it takes to provoke a party this week." Éomer said with a laugh.

The young father was swept soon into a riotous dance and the rest of us where shuffled to table at the very center of the room. A flagon of mead was set before me and every time I took a sip, someone poured more in until it was almost overflowing. Laughingly I tried to wave off the attention but secretly I was pleased to be so doted on, a rare pleasure for me. Soon all around me were engaged in rapid and passionate discussion, growing louder and more wild as the drink flowed and the music got louder. I took the chance to take in some of the scenery. The dances were unlike any I'd ever seen, men and women mostly dancing separately in groups but occasionally coming together in whirling twos or fours. The inside of the tavern was simple, made of rough cut wood and had the smell of alcohol and pine.

"When did you know you wanted to be a healer?"

I jerked my attention back to Éomer. "What?"

"When did you know you wanted to be a healer?"

"Since I was a child I suppose. All the women in my family are healers—some better than others I suppose but we all have some skill. I only began to train with Ivriniel however after my mother went to the veil."

"When was that?" I'd known of course that Éomer's parents were also gone, otherwise he never would have lived with his uncle but it struck me suddenly that question would have given him away as an orphan even if I hadn't already known. Only someone who had also lost a parent could ask with such directness without fear of giving offense. It felt unexpectedly like permission to talk about my mother.

"She died when I was just eight. A fever carried her. I supposed you would have expected that to make me a better pupil then I was but to tell truth of it I only learned true passion for healing after a few years of it. At first I think you could fairly say I resented Ivriniel for the demands her training put on me."

"What kind of demands?"

"Well for example, I never had the time to learn to ride a horse." I said with a smile. The smile was genuine but I couldn't help add to the thought. I had never learned to ride. Or dance. Or flirt. Or dress well, or any skill that might have prepared me for the silly fluttering feeling in my chest I'd had since I'd set eyes on him.

He laughed. "If you should like to learn, I should like to teach you."

"After I just admitted I was a less than enthusiastic pupil? You're too kind my lord."

"A woman like you should be able to ride. Your skills should be able to go where your will directs them. Though in the meantime I should enjoy riding out with you again should you need it."

"I really can't thank you enough for coming to my aid this morning. I apologize again for taking your time, it must be so valuable."

"As I said before, it is I who is in your debt Lothiriel. I will think of some way to repay you if I can."

"The mead is very good, more than payment enough."

"You like Rohirric mead?" He seemed slightly disbelieving.

"It's not too sweet, and you can taste the flowers it comes from. Rohan must be very beautiful in the spring with all the flowers."

"The Mark in spring is a sight you'll never forget. I hope you'll come to visit us sometime in spring to see for yourself."

"Oh I should like that!"

"Your name, it comes from the word for flowers doesn't it?"

I made a small face. "It means flower-garlanded maiden."

He laughed. "You do not approve of your name?"

I had been teased rather mercilessly for the fanciful appellation, first by my brothers in childhood and then by the few ladies who had come to visit Dol Amroth in the many years of Ivriniel's residence. One particularly tortuous visit from a girl named Alwil sent from a neighboring land had lasted the whole summer. She had tormented me mercilessly and finally had made me a crown of toadstools and told me those were the only flowers I was fit to wear. I had told her in reply that toadstools were not flowers and the kind she had chosen to pick were going to give her a blistering rash in a few days. It had fallen to me to wrap the rash for her in camomile soaked dressings so she wouldn't develop permanent scars and she had been so angry she wouldn't even speak to me while I did it. She had left once her skin was healed and her father had never sent her back to visit us for the summer.

"I only rather think my mother did not know the sort of girl she was getting when she gave it to me. But I suppose herb-garlanded or blood-soaked maiden were hardly likely candidates, however more suitable they would have been."

"I think you would look lovely in a flower garland. I know just the kind of blue poppies that grow on the west side of the keep that would suit you best."

I laughed. "Blue poppies? I've never seen such a thing! But please don't waste them on me my lord. I would only grind them up to see how potent a serum they would make."

Now it was his turn to laugh. "I suppose there are many flowers here that may be different then those in Gondor."

"I should imagine so. Ivriniel and I were lamenting just last night that we are here for such a short time. Too short to catalogue much."

"Are you cataloging it?"

"Oh yes of course- as much as we can. Ivriniel would never let such an opportunity go to waste. She's quite determined to make the most out of what she otherwise would consider a rather pointless trip." My eyes shot up as I realized what I said. "Not of course that she isn't very pleased for Faramir and your sisters... it's only, well she's rather peculiar about company and is not one much bent for celebrations. She rather hates them actually as someone is sure to drink to much and fall and she says that suturing a wound such as that is a waste of her time and not interesting in the least and..." I babbled and finally trailed off when I realized he was still smiling.

"I had heard that your aunt was a rather... extraordinary woman. No one could fault her, at her age and station in life for developing her own opinions about large parties in general. She's more than earned the right. But what about you Lothiriel? What do you think of parties?"

I took a long sip of my mead and then said as plainly as I could, "I've never been to one. So I cannot say that I can safely draw a conclusion."

He frowned. "What do you mean you've never been to one?"

"I was never presented at Minas Tirith. Ivriniel never thought it was very useful and with three brothers ahead of me it wasn't very important to my father that I marry anyway. So it simply fell by the wayside I suppose."

"What about your brothers' weddings?"

I shrugged. "There was a terrible flux in a village near Dol Amroth when Elphon was married so we were drawn away for that. And Erchirion was married in Minas Tirith and Ivriniel didn't feel she wished to travel."

"You mean to tell me that you've never been asked to dance? Never had a man compare your eyes to the clearest blue sky and your hair to blackest midnight?" His smile was teasing.

I laughed. "Not to scandalize you further my lord but I mean to tell you I never learned to dance at all. And the last person to remark on my appearance was likely a relative bemoaning how tall I'd gotten since the last time I saw them."

He smiled. "I am scandalized though Lothiriel. What a loss for the young men of your generation in Minas Tirith that they never had the chance to write you poetry. But what a fortuity for me that now I shall be the first to dance with you." He stood and held out a hand.

"Here? I don't even have the faintest idea of the steps. I've never seen these dances before." I tried to laugh him off.

"There aren't many at all, simply hold onto me and I shall swing you around."

"I'll trod on your feet."

"My boots are very thick."

"Alright then."

As he led me to the floor and showed me how to stand to begin the dance I was intensely aware of how we must look. It would be clear to any rational observer that here was a kind and handsome man indulging the plain sister and daughter of a close family. You wouldn't need to know that Éomer and my father had fought together in the most desperate of times. Or that his sister would wed my cousin in three days. Or that he and my brother shared a keen interest in hunting together—all of that would be written as clear as day by the very image of us. It was not a very flattering picture for me.

But then the music started and I didn't have to remind myself to enjoy the moment, no matter how it might appear. It was a riotous tune and the dance was a flurry of movement. As he had said it was mostly a matter of him whirling and lifting me at various moments and required very little from me except to be borne along in the flow of the music. Occasionally we broke apart and he passed me to dance briefly with another woman but even then to my surprise the women were more than happy to help push and pull me in the right direction and then, smiling gaily, tumble me back into Éomer's arms at the proper time.

When the song finished and he put me back on the ground I was out of breath from exertion and laughter. What a fine thing it was to be so whirled about and lifted. I was quite tall but slender and Éomer had lifted me almost to the beams of the roof it seemed. I hadn't expected to enjoy the exertion so much, nor for it to leave me so winded. Except for walking with Ivriniel to find herbs or to visit our patients I did very little physical exertion and was surprised at how two minutes of such left me panting.

"You didn't step on my toes once." He said with a smile.

One of my dance partners joined us and said something to me. "She says you are a pleasure to dance with since you clearly enjoy it. You should practice more the dances of the Mark."

I laughed. "Please thank her for being such a kind and attentive partner. Tell her I will try in the future to be a little bit better prepared."

"Shall we dance another then?"

I allowed myself to indulge in one more dance with him but then made myself excuse him from the task. "I'm afraid I'm awfully undertrained for this." I said, and it was true I was almost gasping out my words. "I'm not sure I can manage another. I must beg to be excused back to the table to rest. However I think I can spot more than a few ladies in here who might be willing to accompany you if you're still fit for it my lord."

He laughed. "And leave you to be asked by someone else? I think not. I shall accompany you back to the table directly."

"They can hardly expect to ask me if I cannot understand what they are saying." I assured him.

But he was already leading me back. "Oh never doubt the determination of a man of the Mark when he wants to dance with a certain lass. But I'll not leave you to be manhandled, worry not."

Once we returned to the table Éomer declared that it was time for him to take me back. "I can't be returning you to your Aunt at any hour of the night after all, smelling like mead and a tavern. With all the court packed into the keep I shouldn't like anyone to get the wrong idea about where you've been."

I laughed. "I hardly think anyone will believe me if I were to tell them that King Éomer took me to a tavern and for a dance to celebrate the successful birth of the sister of my maid."

He gave me a queer sort of a look that I couldn't quite interpret. "No I shouldn't think they would think that's what happened."

He lifted me back onto Firefoot and we set off again, this time at a more civilized pace. It was not yet twilight but the sun was low enough in the sky that some of the evening songbirds were out. The tall grass came to Firefoot's knees and brushed the the soles of my feet as we made our way slowly back. I let my head fall back a little bit, enjoying the pleasantly loose and distracted feeling of the mead making the world seem a little bit softer. The wind of the afternoon had given way to a stillness so intense that I could almost imagine we were miles away from Edoras if I closed my eyes. I imagined us on a longer journey, just traveling for days like this: me on the back of the horse, one arm slung comfortably about his waist as he picked his way slowly back.

"What changed your mind then? About the burden of your training?" His question brought me back to the present moment.

"Pardon?"

"What changed your mind. You said in the beginning you weren't sure you wanted to be a healer when your aunt started training you, or at least that you weren't sure it was worth all it took from you. Yet now you seem to be content with it.

"Oh I have no dramatic tale of heroism. I only grew used to the work and began to love the rewards. There is nothing as rewarding as stitching someone back together or giving a mother a healthy baby."

He considered that for a moment and then said, very plainly, "I felt the same way about becoming king."

I tried not to gape at him, despite the fact he couldn't see my expression.

He seemed to know my next question for he continued unprompted. "I had always been comfortable as Third Marshall, never expected more responsibility than that. I love Rohan and her people but part of being her king is listening to long winded noblemen in court talk to hear the sound of their own voices or pouring over books of old laws long into the night looking for a historical basis for a new law or deciding if it is fair for one town to dam a stream another might need as well."

I could imagine him spending late nights in a study when it was so clear he longed to be out riding with his men. I knew the lonely feeling he must have had on those nights. I could picture him so perfectly bent over his desk reading a long stack of endless, crucial correspondences, trying to puzzle out the forest for all the endless trees. And then, unbidden the image of a woman was suddenly there beside him- a calming, feminine force that would sit with him in those late nights: someone to read aloud a puzzling missive or help tally up lots of grain or simply relieve the agony of solitude.

"So what changed your mind?"

"Last spring, when the harvest came in strong. It had been a hellish winter of making decisions and hoping that I wasn't going to run the country into a famine. But it was a fair spring and our plans worked and then I knew that I would never want to be anything less to Rohan then her king."

"You worried you were making the wrong decision?"

"Don't you? In that room I could see you wanting to freeze with fear of action, of doing something that couldn't be undone. We both make life or death decisions after all."

I felt a surprising moment of kinship with him. By anyone's standards we were a study in contrasts but somehow I'd never met anyone who had so profoundly understood the terror of decision that I felt whenever I was with the truly sick. In the houses of healing I had had to force myself into forward motion during the days of the battle. I had watched as men bled to death under my hands and then played the situations over in my head at night a million times. Could I have acted more quickly? Done something differently? And each day it had grown more and more difficult to find the will to act.

I was a coward.

So how was it that the hero of the Ring War, the king of Rohan and a legendary warrior understood my indecision so effortlessly? Related to it even, in his own indecision about how to act as king.

"But you seem so sure of yourself."

"In battle I am, or on the back of a horse. But I am trained for that. No one had ever taught me how to be a king and I was worried that I would fail badly."

"A reasonable fear then, whereas I am properly trained as a healer and so have no justification for my cowardice."

"You certainly didn't seem a coward this morning. And a healthy doubt keeps us from prideful rashness." He turned to look at me over his shoulder. His gaze again seemed to sear through me like a brand. I shifted uncomfortably under it, wanting to both run from it and leap into it.

"Speaking of bravery, I am surprised you accompanied me into the birthing room today. Is it common for men in Rohan to be present for the birth? In Gondor it is fairly taboo." I managed by way of changing the subject.

He laughed. "Oh no, it is a grand violation of decorum here as well. But the lass was dying and you needed to be able to communicate so there seemed no sense in standing on ceremony."

"Most men would feel uncomfortable to see the... the mechanics of such a scenario."

He shrugged. "With men so comfortable with the mechanics of creating such a situation I see no reason why they should balk at the natural end result." He said with a laugh. "Perhaps there should be more men in the birthing room."

"What a scandalous thought."

"You didn't see it but when I left the room the poor father was pacing outside the corridor of the bedroom in agony. I think he would have been more comfortable if he could see his wife and baby directly rather than having to wait outside. If it had been my wife I would have kicked in the damn door."

Now it was my turn to laugh. "I'm not sure many women would welcome splinters flying in such a moment."

"Then I will ask her nicely to leave the door unlocked."

When we reached the gates of Edoras I was suddenly grateful that the large party arriving from Gondor would come tomorrow. The Rohirrim noticed their king moving through them and showed proper deference and note but did not seem overly interested in me. Even I knew however that tomorrow there would be much more interest shown in which ladies the King of Rohan did or did not spend time with. I was not part of the circle of gossip but only and idiot would not deduce that the ladies of Minas Tirith (and their match-making mothers) would not have noticed that Éomer was still in need of a wife and heir and would make a prize husband to any woman in the court. Though I was not likely to garner much jealousy I was happy to avoid the attention and speculation.

We picked our way up to the steps of Edoras and Éomer dismounted and swung me down. "I shall take my leave of you here my lady if you will allow it. I would like to take Firefoot back to the stables directly. He too has earned a reward today I think."

I curtseyed to him as neatly as I knew how. "Thank you again my lord... for everything today. I am truly in your debt."

"I think perhaps now that we have delivered a child together it is not to forward to ask you to use my given name Lothiriel."

I smiled. "Given the close ties between our families I think I am safe to oblige, though we've not known each other the traditional week it formally requires. You favor me to ask."

"It is you who favors me by obliging."

"Goodnight then Éomer."

"Goodnight Lothiriel."

I was halfway up the steps before he called my name, "Oh and Lothiriel," I swung around. In the lengthening shadows his smile was even more puckish than before. "You had better practice your dance steps. Tomorrow is another night to dance and I doubt the court of Rohan and Gondor combined will be as easy to impress as a tavern in the throws of a party."

"I shall endeavor not to shame my family my Lord." I shut the door behind myself and for a moment let myself lean against it, heart pounding. Did he mean to say he would ask me to dance again tomorrow? In front of the court? The prospect filled me with equal parts dread and elated anticipation. If we had looked ridiculous together in the tavern light, how much more so on the dance floor? And yet... I couldn't bring myself not to hope he would.

I found my aunt alone at the table. She'd finished her meal but was reading the book of medicinal recipes she had written over the years or collected from various sources, fingering the pages lovingly as one might caress a favorite dog. She looked up and with one stern look took in my braid, which must have been a wild mess, the horsehair on my clothes and the cheeks pink from drink and wind. "There was a baby that was breech..." I started to explain.

"So your maid explained, or at least that there was a baby somewhere you went to tend to. I wasn't able to understand all of what she said."

"King Éomer took me as you had taken the carriage."

"She explained that as well. How fare the mother and child?"

"Both are well."

"You delivered it on your own?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm and then you went to celebrate I presume? You reek of mead."

"I... I didn't think it was polite to refuse when they asked me to join them. I... that is Éomer was with me the whole time. Nothing improper happened."

She regarded me for a long minute without saying anything. Then she said, "come sit down and eat your dinner. It's cold but you will need something in your belly that's not mead tonight."

I did as I was bid. I sat and uncovered the dish of food that had been left for me. As she said the potatoes and chicken were cold but I tucked into them gratefully and quickly. I knew from her tone that she was not worried about me sleeping soundly tonight but rather managing to stay on my feet.

On the table she opened a purse to reveal a small quantity of live red beans. "I shall have Gallen bring you a pot of coffee as well to sober you up. You shall need your wits for this. I believe these are a specific kind of lentil that can be used to make a paste that can be applied to a wound to stop hemorrhage. I've never been able to locate any but if they are I should like to return to harvest some to grow in our garden. The beans need to be fresh though when you start the process so you'll need to start tonight. We can test it in the butcher shop tomorrow and then return to collect some young plants for transport tomorrow."

She pushed the book across the table so I could read the instructions for preparing the paste. It was to be a grueling process of many iterations of condensation, saponification and distillation. I hated working with lye as I nearly always suffered a burn despite wearing gloves and almost every line seemed to call for more of the hateful stuff. I would be up most of the night preparing it.

As if she could read my thoughts Ivriniel said. "You could have begun earlier and been finished at a reasonable hour if you'd come straight back Lothiriel."

I nodded. "I'm sorry aunt. It won't happen again."

It did take all night. The sun was just creeping up by the time I finally fell into bed. The keep was all asleep so there had been no one to draw me a bath. I was still covered in a mix of horse hair, dirt, lye and the pungent alcohol used for distillation. But somehow I could still smell something else through all of it—something warm and masculine that was both reassuring and stimulating at the same time. My last thoughts were of an endless ride through tall grasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please drop me a line! Reviews make me write oh so much faster! XO Spake


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning I woke after the noon meal. I bathed quickly and then Ivriniel and I started the long walk down to where she'd found the beans the day before. She had gone to the butcher's shop while I slept and the experiment had been a success so she was in as good a mood as she ever was. The trip was rather long however and took us most of the afternoon to carefully pot several of the sprouting young plants before packaging them carefully in the carriage and starting back. I barely had time to bathe again and get dressed before Amrothos arrived to escort us to the festivities.

Meduseld was practically exploding with the crush of people. The hall had been transformed entirely from the night before, everything draped in the green of Rohan and the white of the House of Húrin. We found our father in the crush and he graced us both with a kiss on our brow. He was talking with the lord of a neighboring land, Lord Iston and it was with a rather sinking feeling that I recognized the tall, elegant profile beside him: his daughter Lady Alwil. It was she who had burned her hands making me a crown of toadstools when we were eleven. The last time I'd seen her she was taller than me but I'd since surpassed her by more than a head but she had taken that same time to grow and blossom into a rather spectacular beauty.

Ivriniel and Amrothos joined conversation with Lord Iston but, as before, Alwil and I were presumed to be natural allies, given our age and mutual sex. The last time they'd assumed that she'd almost been maimed, I wanted to remind them.

She raised a cool, appraising eyebrow at me, seeming to take in everything from my well-worn shoes to the virginal cut of my dress. "Lady Lothíriel."

"Lady Alwil." We exchanged curtseys, hers deep and mine cautious.

"You look... unchanged by the years, Lothíriel. Almost exactly the same as I remember."

I pressed my lips together. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Alwil."

For a long moment silence stretched between us and I could hear a roar almost like an ocean in the background. I wanted to sink through the floor under her inspecting eyes. "Amrothos dear, you couldn't get me a drink could you?" I asked in an attempt to break her attention.

"Of course, Lothi."

"Perhaps one for Lady Alwil as well?"

"Just a moment ladies."

He cut through the crowd easily and returned to us with two glasses of mead. He bowed and handed them to us, quickly returning to the conversation. "So you drink mead then? Not the punch for children?" She said with a little laugh.

"No, I suppose not."

It was a relief when we all moved to be seated at the long tables for dinner. Amrothos sat on my right but to my relief it wasn't Alwil who was chosen for my left, but Lord Gwarth, a Gondorian lord from an eastern land I'd never met. He spared me barely a look, much preferring the company of the woman on his own left. And to be fair to Lord Gwarth, he could hardly be faulted for his choice? The comparison between the two women he was seated between could hardly be starker.

The woman to his left was named Nibeneth. She was quite possibly the most beautiful creature I had ever seen: the kind of woman that even someone as unsentimental as me could have written a few lines of bad poetry about. The overall impression of her was all dreamy pools of deepest blue eyes and shimmering long black hair that fell to a tiny, perfect waist. But it was not just her physical beauty that made her so striking. The easy grace of her was a forceful presence, always seeming to know what to do and say next with a confidence that put the rest of us at ease. She was also, I learned from listening to her conversation with Lord Gwarth, from quite a good household and, though she was barely eighteen and just presented to the court last season, certainly one of the most sought-after hands available.

"Surely my lady you must know your own sobriquet." Gwarth told her solicitously. "Those of us who are all so besotted with your beauty can hardly have all been so discreet."

She laughed. "I'm afraid I have heard that I am sometimes called the 'Flower of the Court' though of course I think it's utterly ridiculous when there are so many handsomer women than me."

"Where?" Gwarth demanded. "Show me a woman in the world more beautiful than you and I shall agree but I've never seen the likes."

"You flatter me and my daughter greatly with your words Lord Gwarth." Nibeneth's mother, Lady Taereth, said rather sternly.

Nibeneth laughed again. "Oh, Lord Gwarth, pay dear mother no attention. She always imagines that every small compliment is so much more serious than it has any reason to be."

But it was plain enough even to me that Gwarth was in full seriousness when he said he was more than a little in love with her and could barely believe his luck at having been seated next to her. No doubt he knew as well as Lady Taereth that she would have been quite the catch for a man such as Lord Gwarth if he could persuade her to love him.

I found I was not so interested in listening to him try however and since neither he nor Amrothos showed the slightest interest in including me in their conversations (Amrothos was in rapt conversation with the man on his left about something to do with horse flesh), I found myself taking the feast in near solitude. I didn't mind however for it afforded me the opportunity to regard the party and the hall without the need to be distracted by talk. I watched the harpist for a while, transfixed by the clever ebb and flow of her fingers across the strings. I looked around at the other ladies and their dresses, noting how much the style had changed even from the last time I had been in Minas Tirith.

But finally my eyes were drawn to the one spot in the room I had been studiously avoiding. When I could resist no longer, I let myself look at the high table. And to my shock, found that Éomer seemed to be looking back at me. I jerked my eyes back down, mortified to have been caught looking at him. I forced myself to take another sip of wine and carefully let my eyes begin to rove again but now carful not to meet his gaze. Suddenly I felt the humiliation of my predicament: stuck between two parties neither of which cared to engage me in conversation.

A little peal of silvery laughter erupted next to me and I relaxed a fraction of an inch. Why did I imagine it was me who had drawn Éomer's eye to this part of the room? It was far more likely that his gaze had been drawn by a much more attractive thing to behold that was seated two seats to my left. I took another drink of wine and felt a little sad smile tug my lips. I would not make the mistake of looking up at the high table again, lest Éomer notice me staring but it was comforting to imagine that perhaps I was not the center of his focus.

"Do you know any of the riders of Rohan, Lord Gwarth?" The girl to the right of Lady Taereth was asking. She was about the age of Nibeneth but not nearly as beautiful. "I should very much like to be introduced to one of them."

Lord Gwarth's expression twisted, seeming to hate the question. "No, my lady, I find this obsession with all things Rohiric that has seized the court to be too popular for my taste. Of course I am in favor of the alliance but the fetish for their culture seems to me no more than a passing fancy."

"But you must admit that their blond hair is... very exotic." Nibeneth rejoined.

"It is surprising, I shall give you that. But the novelty will soon wear off I'll wager."

"I think not, not for all of us." Nibeneth said with a little peal of laughter and let her own eyes flick to the high table. "And it seems to me that they might find our own looks just as...tempting."

She had noticed him looking as well, as so it seemed had the rest of the party.

Her mother smiled. "Yes, I'll wager they've noticed the beauty Gondor can offer."

The companion girl sighed. "You're so lucky, Nibeneth. I knew you would be noticed of course but to be so singled out on the first night... it isn't fair. I'd be content to be noticed by any Rohiric rider but you've already got Ki..." She trailed off at a harsh glare from Nibeneth's mother. "You've already been noticed by the court," she finished lamely.

"Oh, Thennes you do exaggerate, I'm sure the court has noticed a dozen women to please the eye tonight. Everyone looks so grand tonight in their finest clothes.

When the feasting was done the tables were cleared and more musicians joined the harpist. Faramir led Éowyn down to open the dancing with King Elessar and Queen Arwen. Éomer too came down off the dais and I could tell in an instant by his mischievous smile who he intended to ask. I fought the urge to flee as he walked with purpose towards our party. To him it would be only a kindness done for the plain daughter of a good friend and a little private joke between the two of us about my dancing. But for me it would be the end of the anonymity that was protecting me from censure of my un-stylish clothes and my lack of knowledge of courtly things.

Still when he bowed, I curtseyed back, conscious of all the eyes in the room that were on me (not the least the stunned and beautiful eyes just to my left for we had all come as a party to the edge of the dance floor). "Lady Lothíriel, would you do me the honor of this dance?"

"Of course, my lord."

One hand went around my waist again and the other cupped mine. For a woman my hands were rather rough from collecting herbs but his were even more calloused. The contact between them however sent a frisson of heat down my spine and made my toes curl involuntarily in my slippers. The contrast of my own slender fingers against his much larger ones was somehow mesmerizing as was the clear power in his arms and frame.

It was a stately dance at a leisurely pace, one that allowed for conversation rather than the wild jig we'd dance in the tavern. I was struggling mightily to remember the steps I had practiced alone the night before as well as to maintain my coherence with him holding me in his arms. The distracting fact of his warm broad hand at my back, the other cupping my own, the feeling of the warm, lithe muscles of his arm under my own hand were making it nearly impossible to focus, much less speak for it made my mouth go suddenly dry.

Through the haze of terror and excitement occasional sinister thoughts made it through: had he asked me to dance from pity? Or to know the name of Nibeneth and be introduced to her? How pathetic must I have seemed, left alone with no one to talk to at a feast?

"Have you been practicing your dance steps then, Lothíriel?"

I focused on his words, blotting out all the people watching us and focusing only on his face and formulating a response to his question. "I was awake all night doing so my lord." I said honestly, leaving out the part about the bean paste.

"What an obliging, obedient girl you are."

"When the King commands one to do something of course one must obey."

"You obey the King then? Not Éomer."

"You commanded as Éomer? Not as the king. Are you are so tyrannical with your friends then?"

"Peace, peace. All right, I shall not try to match wits with you, Lothíriel. You're logic is quite sound. But I did not think I had commanded you to learn to dance at all. Only given you fair warning that I would ask."

"You threatened a friend then?"

"I had not thought that the proposition of dancing with me again was a threat, lass."

I blushed. Until then our banter had been familiar—a game of matching wits I might play with Amrothos or Elphir but the question of dancing made me uncomfortable. It was too much like flirtation and made me shy back instinctively, unsure of his meaning or what a proper response might be. "No my lord, of course you do me too great an honor. It is more than I deserve."

He frowned at that for a moment, then changed the subject. "What are the names of your dinner companions?"

So he had noticed Nibeneth.

"Lord Gwarth was to my left and to his was Lady Nibeneth. Her mother, Lady Taereth, sat across form us."

"Did you know them before tonight?"

"No, my lord, I'm afraid I am not acquainted with any of them."

"Your brother should not have left you without an introduction in that case." He said with a frown. "I shall tell Amrothos as much."

My blush deepened, so he had noticed that I had been alone as well. "Oh no, my lord it was nothing, I'm used to taking my meals alone anyway and it afforded a nice opportunity to take in the surroundings. I should have had nothing to contribute to either conversation anyway, I do assure you."

He started to say something but the music wound down, signaling the end of the dance. He held me for a moment longer than was proper as the music faded and seemed to be debating saying something else for a moment but finally he let me go and we stepped apart. He bowed and I curtseyed and he led me back to the group I had come from.

Both Nibeneth and her mother looked at me expectantly and for a moment I was seized with the petulant desire not to introduce them to Éomer. An insane jealousy swept me like wildfire, crying out that I wanted to keep his acquaintance all to myself, to hold his attentions just for me as long as I possibly could and not to share them with another woman. But it was a ludicrous thought and would only delay the inevitable. She would be introduced to him at some point and it mattered little if it was by my words or someone else's.

"King Éomer this is Lady Nibeneth of Gondor and her mother Lady Taereth."

She curtseyed very prettily. "I have been hoping to meet the hero who saved Gondor for a long time, my lord." She said.

He bowed. "You do me too much credit my lady."

"Without you Pelennor would have been lost. To say otherwise is to deny the facts and we in Gondor shall never forget that."

"You are a credit to Gondor to say so. Will you do me the honor of this dance?"

"With great pleasure, my lord."

The two of them seemed to glide out onto the dance floor. There was no use in denying, even to myself, what a fine couple they made. He was tall and broad and she was slender and petite. In his arms she seemed to whirl like a perfect little doll when he spun her. Her skirts were gold and green, the green of the house of Eorl. I seemed to notice at the same time as everyone else, and how good the colors looked on her. It was a faster song than we had danced but still she managed to say something that coaxed a smile out of him. He said something back and another little silvery peal of laughter was heard, even sweeter it seemed than the music.

"You did not mention that you were acquainted with the King." Lady Taereth said, managing somehow to be both conciliatory and accusing in her tone. "Have you known him long, my dear? He must favor you greatly to honor you with the first dance."

"He knows my father very well. I have only known him for a short time but the family connection is strong."

"Of course, and Faramir is your cousin. I had forgotten." She said, tapping her chin and looking at me with new interest. "You must share our picnic basket tomorrow when we go flower-picking." She stated after a moment's consideration. "We would be most obliged." She seemed to remember to add.

"It would be me who would be obliged, my lady," I said.

Of course I didn't like to be used so in her obvious manipulations but what choice did I really have? I had been dreading the activity quite profoundly since I had found out the women were to be sent to gather flowers for the wedding in the morning: imagining myself spending the whole day standing apart from conversation without even my brothers there. At least in the other activities with men involved Amrothos would never leave me without a drink or food and was always happy enough to have me at his elbow. But without him I would be utterly alone. Ivriniel would never deign to go flower picking and I would be expected to go as Faramir's cousin. Éowyn would be far too busy to sit with me the whole day and I had very little connection to anyone else in the party having never made friends in the court.

I wanted to turn and run back to my rooms before the dance was over. If Éomer was to fall in love with Nibeneth did it have to be before my very eyes? I felt at least I deserved the consideration of not being made to watch if the man I was so newly smitten with was to press his suit with another. Instead I clapped politely when the dance ended with the rest of the crowd and smiled as Éomer returned Nibeneth to our group. She was a shining beacon of joy as he dropped her off and then joined our conversation. "Mama you must invite Lady Lothíriel to come flower-picking with us tomorrow for Lady Éowyn's wedding. The party won't be half as fun without her."

Lady Tareth smiled widely. "Why yes of course, dear, I was just saying the same thing and she has graciously agreed to go with us."

Éomer shot me a conspiratorial glance. "Flower picking is it? And Lothíriel has consented to go?"

I blushed. "Why yes of course she has." Lady Taereth replied though she looked a little confused. "We all wish to do honor to your sister."

"I'm sure Éowyn will thank you all for the...sacrifices you make for her ceremony. The hall is sure to be blooming by tomorrow."

"It's no sacrifice at all, my lord. I happen to adore flowers and flower picking. Arranging them is a special treat for me," Nibeneth said piously.

I took a sip of wine to hide my smile.

"And you, Lady Lothíriel?" Éomer asked goadingly.

"Perhaps Lady Nibeneth will be so good as to teach me the joy of it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions or anything you particularly like! Let me know please! And another huge shout out to Lady Bluejay on the other big fanfiction site for beta-reading this for me! XO Spake


	4. Chapter 4

Flower picking was, in fact, worse than I had imagined.

Nibeneth and her friends were all fashionable Gondorian ladies of the first kind and, consequently, they had little enough to say to me and I even less that might satisfy or interest them. That is not at all to say that I was so aloof as to find their conversation boring. Quite the contrary I listened with rapt attention and had to stop myself from staring at all their elegant airs and gestures. I wanted quite badly to join in their conversation but I was so terrified of putting a foot wrong I couldn't bring myself to say more than quiet and brief answers to the rare questions I was asked. I felt like the wire of a harp wound tight: all my muscles seemed tense. I sat up as straight as I could, rigid and stiff and insurmountably aware of the awkwardness of my every move and gesture. The lazy elegance of those around me seem designed to contrast my own lack thereof.

Even without the painful awareness of my stilted and untutored posture, the vicious gossip that dropped in an out of the conversation would have been enough to make my blood run cold. Not that I was so good as to wish to defend the other ladies who they attacked, only that it was so easy to imagine what they would be saying about me later when I was no longer around. When I heard the ruthless remarks made of ladies far more elegant than I for just a small faux pas or a gown that was even a season out of style, it was useless to worry about what they would say about me. I wanted to fold myself and my girlish gown into a thing so small that I would just blow away in the breeze rather than listen to them.

Instead I contented myself with studiously filling my basket with blooms and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. The nervous movement of my hands at least seemed to give some excuse for my lack of contribution to the dialogue. Perhaps one or two of the more naïve ladies would be fooled into thinking I was merely too interested in my task as to speak up. Of course all with even a slightly more practiced eye would know that I was only trying to look as if I was not the ignored and friendless woman that I truly was.

Nibeneth tried to engage me once or twice but soon gave up when she found my answers dull and contented herself chatting with the more interesting girls. She did at least keep me close to her side however, which seemed to be shelter of some kind. Lady Alwil had also joined us as well as her mother seemed to be friends with Lady Tareth but the friendship did not seem to extend to the younger generation. Like me she was little spoken to by the other ladies though she did not seem to mind much and paid no attention to their conversation or their slightly studied way of excluding her from it.

The spot we had chosen to collect flowers and make our garlands was in a little sloping meadow just outside the gates of Edoras. As the morning wore on the men assembled for what was to be a long day of hunting for the wedding feast and I was not the only one who couldn’t help but notice when Éomer joined them.

“Ladies let us all stretch our legs for a moment. Sitting for this long is bad for the constitution and sitting among just ourselves is bad manners.” Nibeneth announced when he arrived. She stood and offered me her arm which I took. “We should wish the men going out for the hunt good luck.”

It was clear that Nibeneth saw me as no rival. But did she guess my feelings for Éomer, I wondered? I doubted it for I must seem to her the kind of woman with no feelings at all, if I could even be considered a woman. But even if I were to state my feeling plainly-- as plainly even as I understood them – there was no doubt that she would be the first to know that Éomer could never return them. So what was the harm to her suit to use me to gain access to him?

However, we were not the first who had thought of the pretense of stretching their legs to come to see the men off. Already half a dozen young men and women, a mix from Gondor and Rohan, were milling about at the edge of the forest while the hunters prepared themselves. Nibeneth left my arm almost at once and made her way into the crowd of hunters who were checking their armor and weapons. I did not follow. Whatever influence I had over Éomer, little though it might be and mostly borrowed from my father and brother, I was peevishly unwilling to lend it to another woman to aid her pursuit of him. This, I thought, is the very seed of jealousy: an unwillingness for a rival to succeed even when one’s own success is impossible.

Not the most noble of my instincts but I would not bring myself to overcome it.

I, however, was at least not alone in my envy. With Nibeneth safely out of earshot the gossip swiftly focused on her. “Valar but she's quite forward, isn't she? Like an arrow show from her mother's quiver and no subtlety about her at all,” Thanne said with a snort of derision.

“What does she need to be subtle for? She's knows she would be a good enough catch for the King and she has only a few more nights to convince him of it. Don't let your envy that she's fair and titled be so obvious, Thanne.” Another girl replied.

The other ladies argued for a while about the relative merits and shame of being as forward as Nibeneth in her suit but none of us could take our eyes off her. She'd woven some of the small yellow flowers into her hair them to great effect. They contrasted perfectly with the startling blue of her gown and her eyes. She'd managed to work herself into a conversation with Éomer and a few other noblemen who were taking a break from the bouts but as they spoke it became increasingly clear that the conversation was just between the two of them. The others of the group continued to talk but she had managed to split him off into a side conversation. Éomer laughed as she insisted on letting her put one of the little flowers into the band of leather that went around his upper arm, keeping one of his leather pauldrons in place.

As ever it was mesmerizing to see them together.

My attention jerked back to the women around me as I suddenly realized that unexpectedly, the conversation had turned to me.

“Nibeneth can do what she wants. I'm only sorry that her plotting has left this... thing inflicted on the rest of us.” She gestured to me.

“Oh be nice,” Thanne said weakly. “She’s perfectly harmless. Besides, she has one brother left unmarried and he is quite handsome, perhaps if you were a little more tactful she'd introduce you to him.”

“As if I would want to marry the third son of a man who let his daughter dress so awfully.”

Another girl tittered at that. “Where does she even find those things? Lothíriel, where do you find those sacks you call dresses?”

I was frozen. Until then they hadn't been speaking to me exactly but neither had they been making any effort to keep me from hearing what they were saying. Now all eyes turned to me. I opened my mouth but my mind seemed to have gone utterly blank.

“Is your tailor blind?” Another girl jeered. “Is he some charity case that you and your aunt saved from some great illness that blinded him and now to take pity on him you let him make your clothes.”

Again I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

“Her tailor may be blind but she's practically mute.”

“A good many people I know wish you were mute, Panniel,” Lady Alwil said sharply. “And it's a wonder your tailor has enough cloth to cover your massive backside. So I would watch what I said about mutes and tailors if you don't want to invite people to remark on either.”

“Oh excellent, Lady Alwil has chosen to grace us with her words, genteel as ever I see.”

Alwil dropped an elaborate curtsey. “I choose the elegance of my address based on the company I keep. As my mother has sentenced me to purgatory with you sniveling lot of court piglets I hardly see the need to put on my best manners. You can feel free to use the acid of my tongue to clear up those persistent spots you're not hiding under all that paint, Lady Angris.”

She took my arm and looped it into hers. “Come, Lady Lothíriel, let's return to the blanket to collect our baskets. I've had enough of flower picking for today, let's see if we can be more help fishing.” And without waiting for my reply she pulled me firmly away and back toward the blanket.

“What in the name of Valar was that about?” I asked in a stunned whisper when we were a few paces away.

Alwil looked rather pleased with herself, shooting me a very smug grin. “Well, I suppose that was about a bunch of under-bred, sniveling little upstarts thinking that they're clever enough to match wits with me when in all reality they haven't got the first clue where their finely coiffed hair ends and their brains begin,” she cackled. “That was fun I say, Lothíriel, I really enjoyed that.”

“You enjoyed that?”

“Oh yes, of course. Having been quite the bully myself for many years I can never tolerate them now. Particularly not such unimaginative, untalented little bullies such as them. Do you know what I mean?”

Having no response to that I simply goggled at her. I did not know what she meant in fact. If I had imagined anyone in the group would have been my tormenter she would have been high on the list. This sudden reversal of my expectations seemed almost unbelievable.

“You're surprised I'm not the same girl I was at eleven? Ready to smear mud in your hair just because I could? Come now, Lothíriel, men and women are not paintings, we can grow and change you know.”

“I suppose so,” I conceded. “Still, you didn't have to get involved. Won't they now turn their attentions to you instead of me? I wouldn't like to cause you problems.”

“They can try. As I said, I relish the chance to spar with them.”

“Are they not your friends?”

“Not at all. Well... not for many years. The last time I saw you I suppose we were all friends but I grew out of that petty nonsense and gossip they all seem to live off. My mother makes me visit that set from time to time to keep up relations with Lady Taereth but it's nothing but a chore for me and everyone knows it. Besides,” she added. “I guess I still owe you for helping my hands heal after the whole toadstool incident. Rather kind of you to tend the enemy.”

“Well I am sorry… for any trouble it causes you.”

She shook her head. “I can handle myself against the likes of those maidens. You owe me no apology for defending you.”

“Then I am sorry to have needed defense... I shouldn't like to think of myself as so helpless. I am nearly twenty-three after all and should be a woman fully grown.”

She shrugged. “You were never brought to court. How should you be expected to know how to play its games? No more than those girls would know how to stitch a wound.”

“I suppose you're right. Still, it does bring me shame,” I said, surprising myself with my honesty.

“In some ways I feel it a greater shame to be as good at dealing with them as I am,” she said with a laugh. “The hours I wasted practicing I shall never get back.”

As we'd spoken she'd guided us back to the blanket to collect our flower baskets and then to the riverbank where several ladies stood with poles and baskets, fishing the river. I was surprised to see ladies do it and Alwil must have read my expression. “It's actually quite fashionable for a woman to know how to fish in the Mark. I'm only a marginal hand but my mother-in-law Wídwine is a patient teacher. Come, I'm sure she'd love to help you learn too.

“Your mother-in-law?”

She laughed. “Oh didn't I mentioned I married a Rohirric lord? It must have slipped my mind at the party. I should have introduced you to Fraca last night only he was seated on the other side of the room on Éowyn's side since they're distant cousins, I suppose.”

“You married a Rohirrim?”

“Indeed.”

“How?” I was stunned.

“We met after Pelennor of course. My father opened our house in Minas Tirith to shelter those who had been wounded and Fraca was one of the men who we tended to ~~o~~. We were married shortly after and I've been living here since, which of course explains the language. It got rather boring only being able to talk to Fraca in a few words so I figured I might as well learn to speak with him properly.”

“He doesn't speak Westron?”

“A few words here and there of course, enough to woo me,” she said with a laugh. “But I think I'd decided to marry him before he'd even opened his mouth. I'm only lucky he turns out to have come from a decent family, otherwise I would have been forced to create a scandal!”

I goggled at her.

“What?” She laughed. “He's very handsome. All will be explained once you meet him.”

“I only... I suppose I never imagined you leaving Gondor that’s all. You seemed so suited to court life.” Suited in all the ways I would never be.

She frowned. “I thought so at one point. I was wrong.”

Alwil's mother-in-law turned out to be a middle-aged woman of strikingly small height for a woman of Rohan and a little plump but with the kind of smile that immediately put one at ease and marked her as an uncommonly kind soul. She greeted me warmly, taking both hands and giving only a small measure of a curtsey. “Westu hal, dear,” she greeted me

“Westu hal.” I returned her greeting with my clumsy curtsey.

Though I didn't understand all the words a quick discussion brought forth three poles and Wídwine lead us to the edge of the stream. She showed me how to string a little minnow onto the end of the hook and then cast it out into the deeper water where the fish lurked.

“She's impressed you're not unsettled by the feeling of the minnows. Most ladies find it difficult to tolerate that at first,” Alwil told me.

I laughed. “I've used minnows in many a concoction so I'm used to the feel. Ground in a mortar and pestle they're invaluable addition to soil if you want your tomatoes to grow.”

She laughed and translated it, the mirth spreading.

In the end only Alwil succeeded in catching a fish that Wídwine deemed large enough not to be thrown back: a large, flopping great red thing that she proudly wrapped in a cloth and tucked into her basket. “Don't say a word to Fraca. I wish to surprise him,” she said.

“Of course.”

The late morning and afternoon passed merrily enough with us trying for more fish. Wídwine was quite patient, seeming to enjoy trying to make sense of my clumsy attempts to practice my Rohirric, with Alwil good naturedly correcting my meaning when my accent was too thick or my grammar too faulty.

For the midday meal Wídwine had brought a picnic for twenty or more people and soon found company enough to eat most of it. Alwil and I helped arrange the feast out on the large blanket she had also brought. Alwil set aside a flagon of white wine that had been chilled in the stream and poured us both generous portions. Wídwine meanwhile set about to making me a plate of all that she felt was best in the fare and ended up with a pile that was more than enough for me and Alwil both.

“She says you're far too thin,” Alwil told me when the plate was put in front of me. “She's worried that you'll never survive the winter.”

“Tell her that the winters in Dol Almoroth are quite mild.”

Alwil rolled her eyes. “If you think that will dissuade her you're even more naive then I thought. She's only thinking that more food will give you birthing hips and a figure that will get you a husband. Whatever her stated motives are it's marriage that concerns her truly. Fraca was her last born and she doesn't know what to do with herself without someone to marry off.”

I laughed. “She may be disappointed when it comes to me. But I shall try at least to eat a sufficient amount of this to please her.”

“I think the amount sufficient to please her would be almost impossible for you to manage. I wouldn't hurt yourself in trying.”

“I shall endeavor to strike a satisfactory middle course in that case.”

The food was quite good and the wine as well. Alwil and I lay back on the blanket together after we were full and sipped at our wine, staring up into the blue sky above us. Rarely had I ever felt so content or so relaxed in the company of another woman my age... or almost anyone for that matter except perhaps my brothers. Even Ivriniel and my father tended to make me feel inadequate in someway. It was a strange feeling to lie back with her and feel content with the stillness between us.

Unbidden a confession seemed to spring forth from my wine-laden and satisfied lips. “I didn't want to,” I said suddenly. “Tend your hands the summer, I mean. After you'd been burned by the mushrooms you picked. Ivriniel made me do it myself though. She said I must have provoked you somehow,” I admitted shyly.

Alwil sat up on one elbow to look at me. “Really? I always thought you were the sort of boring saintly kind of sop who would have volunteered.”

I shook my head. “Ivriniel checked every day that I hadn't mixed any nettles in with the chamomile.”

She laughed. “Did she now? Had it occurred to you to do so?”

I blushed. In truth Ivriniel had caught me with the nettles over the pot the first morning and had had to whisk the tea away to stop them falling in. “It may have.”

“What a surprise! A pleasant one at that! I would have thought you lacked the imagination for revenge.”

“Not the imagination. Only the spine generally.”

She cackled and rolled onto her back. “Now it's my turn to be surprised by you, I suppose. Only right now that I've lectured you the intrinsic mutability of human nature to be surprised by your own.”

For a moment we lay together in silence. Perhaps she was contemplating the complex nature of the human condition but for me the wine had gone to my head and I was only contemplating the pleasant thrum of my blood in my ears, my own breath and the strange and persistent desire for the warm weight of Éomer to press me down into the soft grass beneath the blanket.

Alwil's voice brought me back to the present. “God I hated you that summer. I was consumed with envy. You were everything I wasn't—quiet, well-mannered, always saying please and thank you and ever the pet of the adults. Meanwhile I could only sit still long enough to be rapped on the fingers in my lessons.”

“Envious of me? How could you have been? You were so beautiful and could ride so well and dance... and all your clothes were so very lovely. I knew we were of a size and you never let me borrow them even though you must have known I wanted to try them on.”

For a moment we were silent, staring up at the expanse of blue sky, both considering the other girl from so many years ago in a new light. “I rather think I regret being such a pain to you. We could have been friends all these years if we'd put our minds to it,” she said finally.

“I don't think so.”

“Why not?”

“I've never had many friends. And you were with us only that one summer. You would have forgotten me when you went back to Minas Tirith.”

“Perhaps I would have. But the summer would have been more fun. Do you think you would have written to me? If I'd written to you?”

“Of course.”

“Then I think I would have written back.”

When the men finally began to stream out of the forest Alwil leaped to her feet almost at once. Rushing over, she searched among the men until she found who she was looking for and then laughed as the man caught sight of her and ran the last few feet to her, sweeping her up into passionate kiss. I blushed and looked away but Wídwine only laughed. “Young,” she told me in Rohirric. “Young bride.”

She meant that Alwil and Fraca were still in the passionate throws of a new marriage. Unable to resist, I touched my own lips. I wanted Éomer to kiss me like that, to take me in his arms and... but I forced the thought away. There was no use in dwelling on what would never be. Seeing him with Nibeneth had made it clear to me the kind of woman that Éomer would take to wife. Perhaps it wouldn’t be her. Perhaps it would be another smiling girl with flowers in her hair that would win him. But the shy sister of a good friend, too tall and awkward for her own good would never do for the wife of a King and warrior.

Alwil and Fraca returned to us arm in arm and Alwil was glowing pink from the kisses. “Lothíriel, come meet my husband. Lady Lothíriel, meet Lord Fraca, Lord Fraca, this is Lady Lothíriel. She is the sister of Amrothos of Dol Almroth and daughter of the Prince of Dol Almroth.”

He bowed deeply and I returned the courtesy. “Westu hal, my lord.”

He smiled. “Westu hal, lady.”

Alwil considered for a moment. “I'm too tired to walk back to the keep. Wídwine did you ride down?”

“Yes, my dear, my horse is just over there.”

“Come, Fraca I'll ride behind you. Only find a rider to take Lady Lothíriel back to the hall. She can't ride herself and she'll be too tired to carry her basket all the way up.” She added some instructions in Rohirric for her husband.

A laugh from behind me sent me slewing around. Éomer was smiling at me. He dismounted from Firefoot and fixed us all with a courtly bow. He bowed to us all and kissed Wídwine’s hand with respect.

“I hope, Lady Alwil that I can be that willing volunteer. And I hope I meet your specifications.”

She regarded Éomer for a moment coolly, as if to see if he was making fun of her and if she would accept it if he was. But finally she seemed to approve of whatever joke he'd made. She cocked a hand on her hip. “You shall do.” She added something in Rohirric that made him throw his head back and chortle.

“Come, Lothíriel, let me carry you and your blooms home.”

“No, my lord, I assure you I am perfectly fine walk...”

But he did not listen to my protestations. Instead he simply lifted me by the waist onto Firefoot's back and settled the basket of flowers in my lap.

Alwil came to the horse and looked up at me as Éomer swung up in front of me. “Come take breakfast with me tomorrow before the wedding ride,” she commanded. “I shall send the carriage to bring you in the morning.”

“Alright.”

“What did she say that made you laugh?” I asked as Éomer turned his horse back toward the keep.

“She told Fraca to find a good enough rider that even you couldn't fall off.”

I smiled. “And what did she say when you asked if you met those specifications?”

“She said not to play the stallion in a paddock. It's quite a bit funnier in Rohirric, like something your grandmother might say to you if you were ten to cut you down to size. Her grasp of our language is rather impressive I should say, she's a fast learner.”

“You know she's the girl in the story I told you the other day, the one who made me the toadstool necklace and then whose hands I had to tend when they blistered.”

“You two seem to have mended some fences in the meantime.”

“We barely know each other. But she seems to me an honorable enough sort of a woman.”

“Fraca is a man I would bet my life on. If she's his wife, I'm sure she's a fine enough character.”

That stupid yellow flower was still in his pauldron. Somehow it had managed to hang on in through the hunt. I fought not to fixate on it but simply enjoy the precious moment alone with him, in his company. There was no use getting upset at the other girls who won is affection. It was my lot to simply enjoy any attention and favor he deigned to bestow upon me.

He brought me to the steps of Meduseld and made to swing down but I stopped him with a hand. “Can I not help you take off Firefoot's tack? Wídwine told me this afternoon that it is the responsibility of the rider to look after the horse in Rohan an no one else. I am not a rider of course but since I contributed to part of the burden he bore today is it not my job as well to help with his keeping?” ~~~~

It was an obvious excuse to spend more time with Éomer but he did not seem to see through it.

He smiled. “You were hardly the majority of his burden today, Lothíriel. But if you would like to see them I would be happy to show you the stables and let you give him some treat to thank him. That is, if you aren't too tired.”

“I would like that very much.”

So we both went to the stables and I watched as he took off the tack and brushed and washed down Firefoot with a kind of care and attention that filled me with a joy and longing I couldn’t describe. It wasn't quite jealousy but something of a similar nature. The care and love he showed the task and the beast filled me with a queer and bitter-sweet emotion. This would be the kind of attention and care he would show a baby. But why did that thought fill me with a longing so sharp it bordered almost on despair?

Once he was done he took my basket of flowers and we turned together toward the keep, walking in companionable silence in the gathering darkness.

“So did you enjoy your flower gathering, Lothíriel?”

“It was not as terrible as I had feared.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

He walked me to my very door within the hall and then paused before handing my basket back. “I know that you consented to gather these flowers as a favor to my sister and in the honor of your cousin. But I was wondering if you would favor me with the gift of one.”

I smiled. “Of course, my lord.”

“Chose one for me then.”

I knew of course which one I wanted to give him. It was the opposite of the gaudy, expansive yellow thing already wilting on his shoulder. Instead I pulled from my basket a sprig of juniper berries on the branch and handed it to him. I'd gathered it by the stream while we were fishing and the official flower gathering was over. I doubted Éomer would know it but the traditional meaning of juniper berries was protection for soldiers. Women in Dol Almroth sowed the berries into their husband’s armor during war time.

He smiled at the unusual gift. “Not a rose for me then?”

I held out the basket. “My lord, you may take whatever you like.”

His jaw clenched. “Lothíriel you shouldn't...” but he stopped short. “That is, I think the juniper blossoms will be more than enough to satisfy me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC
> 
> This work is not complete! More Chapters to come!
> 
> You guys were so generous with your reviews last chapter! I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations and you continue to leave me such detailed and wonderful reviews! Each and everyone makes my whole day and puts a big smile on my face! I’m really, really enjoying writing this story and I hope you all are enjoying reading it too but let me know! As for the perspective from Éomer – I’ve tried to write a bit of it but it doesn’t seem to fit with the story yet and for now I think I like to leave Lothíriel as our main narrator. Her voice comes to me the most strongly when I sit down to plot out what happens next and I think keeping her (and us) from fully knowing his mind is important for now. Let me know of course if you disagree vehemently  and thanks as always and forever to Lady Bluejay for the excellent beta reading. XO Spake.


	5. Chapter 5

Alwil and Fraca's residence was a rather grand house not too far from Meduseld. As promised a boy was sent with the carriage to bring me in the morning.

On my way in I met Wídwine, who was coming down the stairs. She greeted me with a warm embrace and explained something in Rohirric I could best guess meant that she was off to meet a friend, before bustling out. In the parlor a fine table was set with a generous breakfast: two eggs a piece, a hearty strip of sausage and two slices of thick, dark bread as well as strong coffee with plenty of cream and sugar. Alwil was already dressed for the wedding ride in a creamy linen frock and sandals. Her crown of flowers was tossed on the sideboard, a riot of blues and reds that was reflected in red and blue flowers embroidered along the hem of her otherwise simple frock.

“Tuck in then, you'll need your energy for today,” she commanded. “These things seem a spring picnic but no one brings any nourishment but wine and it goes straight to your head if you haven't eaten.”

I joined her at the table with a smile and began to butter my bread. “I shall have to take your word for it. I'm not going on the wedding ride.”

“Yes you are.”

“Am I? I haven't got a horse or even a clue how to ride. Much less a proper frock for it. All my gowns are drab colors, I would ruin the effect.”

Part of the charm of the wedding ride was that all the women dressed in the traditional garb: white gowns trimmed with thick bright cords of woven cloth that matched their flowers at the hem, waist, neckline and sleeves. It was a celebration of the maiden that was to be lost that night and all things maidenly. A young married woman such as Alwil might ride in it as well but never after she'd born a first child.

“You can sit behind me. Wídwine has agreed to let me borrow her horse which is more than sturdy enough to carry the two of us. And most importantly, as you remarked yesterday, we were, and still are, something of a size. So I'm going to put you into some proper clothes.”

I shook my head. “Oh that isn't what I mean Alwil... really you don't have to... it was only the petty little jealous thought of a girl.”

She put down a forkful of sausage and eggs. “You said yesterday we couldn't have been friends. But I think you're wrong. And I'd like to start now.”

You want to be friends?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because... well because I don't have many friends either. At least not true friends, people who would do more for me than just what serves their own purposes. You I think... well, I think you would, if I were in your confidences.”

“What makes you think that?”

“At the very least because I think you don't have many friends either.”

I took a sip of coffee and considered her for a moment. She was serious, I realized. “Alright then.”

“Good. And I will, by the way.”

“You will what?”

“I will do more for you than just what serves my own purposes.”

“Alright.”

When we'd finished breakfast Alwil took me up to her chambers. Though the rest of the house was neat as a pin, Alwil's room looked like a very well-funded brothel: clothes and jewelry were scattered over what seemed like every surface. She went to the over-spilling dresser and returned with two cream frocks suitable for a wedding ride, one trimmed in green and rose and the other in gold and blue.

The wedding ride was a tradition shared by both Gondor and Rohan in which the bride and her friends dressed in white and flowers went on a long ride the morning of the wedding. The groom and his friends were to lie in wait at some point along the way and give chase. If the bride was caught and pulled onto the groom’s horse then she and her friends would serve the groom and his party their wine and mead at the wedding party. If the bride escaped then it was the men who served the drinks. An individual man might relieve himself from duty however by catching another maid from the party and pulling her onto his horse. In that case it was she who took over the responsibility of serving drinks on his behalf.

I, of course, had only observed such a tradition from the vantage point of reading about it in books or sowing up the split brows or skinned knees of young men and women who had participated. It felt strange to regard myself in the traditional garb—participant rather than observer for once. Alwil had made quick work of dressing me in both frocks with the help of her maid and had decided (without waiting for my input) that I would wear the gold and blue.

“Won't people know that I'm just wearing your clothes?”

I was reluctant to admit how much I enjoyed the feeling of the more mature and womanly gown. The gown was not cut immodestly, if anything the neckline was more conservative than the most current fashion, but the way it hugged my bodice and accentuated the curves of my waist and bust made me feel uncomfortably exposed... and something else. The press of the cloth against my skin was invigorating, almost as if it were the hand of a lover. It opened in me a lithe and funny feeling of boundless energy. In this gown I wanted to be out in the world, sitting behind Alwil and sharing a wineskin, passing it back and forth with the careless grace of an entirely different woman.

“I think they'll be too busy noticing that you're a woman to care where the clothes came from.”

I regarded my reflection in the looking glass and sighed. It was foolish to like the clothes so, to feel myself so changed by them. It was still the same drab girl looking back, just dressed up for a part as if in a play. I would be the only one fooled by my new gown, the other ladies I was suddenly sure would see right through it. “I look ridiculous Alwil, they're going to laugh at me.”

She'd set her maid to doing my hair up in an intricate braid and wrapping it around itself to form an elegant little up-do. “A girl who will laugh at you dressed thus would have laughed at you anyway. And you need pay her no mind.”

I almost opened my mouth to protest but knew it would do no good... or perhaps some small part of me didn't want to argue her out of taking me after all.

The horses had been led around to the front of the stable. Without Éomer to lift me it took a little bit of instruction and three attempts but I was finally able to get up onto Lady Wídwine's rather stout steed. Alwil seemed to leap onto the saddle compared to me. As I'd done with Éomer I put an arm around her waist (though the effect was not nearly the same on me) and she started a slow pace down and out through the city. She was right, the mare had a smooth, steady gait that was easy enough to balance on and overall I found the experience pleasant.

We joined the main group of riders at the edge of Edoras. The party was huge. Most wedding rides consisted of only the bride and a few friends but this was more of a public affair and the entirety of eligible young ladies from Edoras and Minas Tirith seemed to have congregated to ride out behind Éowyn. After all, who would want to miss the experience, the chance to tell your grandchildren that you were in such a party as this. All the women from both Gondor and Rohan were dressed in the traditional wedding ride garb as we were: loose, flowing linen robes with garlands of flowers on their heads and at their wrists.

Alwil rode with a group of young Rohirric women who were dressed well enough to let me know that they weredaughters of noble birth. She kept the pace with them despite having me behind her to contend with. The Rohirric women were of course fascinated that I could not ride and were much more interested in teasing me for that rather than my dress. But I found that bothered me not at all, perhaps because I could not understand them, or perhaps because Alwil answered them back with passion. Though I did not understand all she said she seemed to be defending me on the grounds that I had other talents and could easily learn to ride if I wanted to.

For the second time that morning I was overwhelmed by unexpected strong emotion. She was willing to defend me against these ladies who were obviously her friends and clearly meant no serious insult in their remarks. I had never had someone willing to do that for me, except perhaps my brothers. And they did not share Alwil's seemingly keen insight on how words can sting just as well as a knife. She had said she would act against her interest to win me as a friend and she was right. I found myself swearing that in some way I would repay the kindness she showed me, though I couldn't imagine how.

She had been right as well about the need for a good breakfast. Skins of wine were passed throughout the party freely and often and soon most of the girls were more than a little drunk. Alwil caught a skin and passed it back to me and I took a drink, though careful not to take too much in. Riding back with Éomer from the tavern had been precarious enough and he had been much more careful not to tip or unbalance me in the slightest. Alwil was careful enough to keep me centered but she was a less solid thing on to which I could hang.

It was an early spring morning with the chill of winter not entirely gone and I was glad for the wine as we waited for the sun to burn off the last of the morning mist. We rode out over the great plain of Rohan and I realized what Éowyn intended to do. She was taking the party through various villages to show the court of Gondor and Rohan how most of the common people of Rohan lived. It was certainly a shrewd political strategy aimed at advancing the cause of unification and intermingling of the two kingdoms: showing both that the tradition was something they had in common. As we wound through the villages men and women both approached the party to refill our wineskins and hand us up pastries, ribbons and flowers to decorate our hair. The morning proceeded in a jolly fashion as we passed from village to village, laughing and passing wineskins from girl to girl.

Éomer had said that the Rohirrim found black hair fascinating and never had it been plainer he was right than that morning. Young men seemed to line the streets as we passed and the lack of a shared language did not seem to prevent attempts at courtship. Even I was given a variety of small gifts, two very nice roses and some fine ribbon. A very forward young man caught my hand as I passed and tied a ribbon around my wrist.

He said something in Rohirric and gave me a lusty wink.

Alwil rolled her eyes. “He says he's a fisherman and if he could build a net to catch such a fish as you he'd build it of lace and petals.”

I laughed. “Perhaps he should be a poet.”

She groaned. “It sounds even worse in the original. I've taken license to make it more palatable.”

As we rode Alwil fetched out a rather beautiful scarf form her saddle bags and at her direction, wove it into her braid. “Fraca loves the way blue looks in my hair and I told him to watch for it on the ride. I want to make it easier for him to find me when the chase begins.”

“What shall I do when the chase begins?”

“Oh nothing but hold on. I've given Fraca strict instructions not to catch us. I for one will _not_ be serving him wine tonight,” she said, tossing her hair imperiously. “Éowyn is too good a rider to be caught so the only danger is that one of the other men captures us directly.”

I laughed. “Alright, I shan't be afraid then.”

However, toward the end of the morning, as we had turned back toward Edoras, as we pressed passed a copse of trees and then the real ride was upon us. From the trees riders seemed to spring as if from air, charging down toward us. Faramir was visible at the front and made straight for Éowyn who, with a peal of laughter, turned her horse down the road and set off at full speed. The maids around her spurred on their own horses and suddenly it was a chase. I gripped tightly to Alwil as she bent forward and spurred our mount into a gallop.

To the side of the road opposite the corpse of trees was a marshy field of tall grass that bent toward the city. Most of the women turned into it, intending to shorten the distance between them and the bridge over the Snowborne that led back to Edoras. The men, whooping, set off in pursuit. Alwil however seemed to determine that the soft ground of the marsh would not do for a horse carrying two riders and instead set off thundering down the road itself.

As ever it was impossible for me to avoid my eye being drawn to Éomer. It was strange how quickly I could find him in a crowd of other Rohirrim, all similarly tall and blond. But for me he always shone out like a beacon and even at full gallop I didn't have to try to find him. He cut toward the front of our party and Nibeneth broke off right in front of him, a shout of joy coming from her as she leaned forward to spur on her mount.

I tried to make myself look away but couldn't quite succeed. The image of the two of them—two young riders in full strength playing a game generations old but somehow new suddenly and just for the two of them—was somehow unbearable. It made my stomach churn suddenly and unpleasantly in a way wholly distinct from the churning from the suddenly galloping horse.

A shout from Alwil brought me back to my own chase. “Fraca! You valar-cursed liar! I told you not...” Whatever she had told Fraca did not seem to be registering, much less now since she was only shouting in Westron and her point was somewhat undermined by the unrestrained smile and bubbling laughter she couldn't contain as her husband fell in after us. His horse’s nose was at my legs, bumping into my calves even, so close was he as he came up behind us.

But I was not his target. He spurred his horse faster and pulled parallel. Burdened with two of us as it was our own horse had little chance of outstripping Fraca. Alwil did her best, leaning forward and spurring the beast for all she was worth but it was of no avail. Fraca paced his horse so it was just parallel next to us and caught her by her wrist. She managed to twist free of that so instead of trying to capture it again he simply slipped his shoulders under one of her arms and lifted her bodily from the saddle. She was laughing to hard for proper speech. “No Fraca! You must take Lothíriel too!” She managed between bursts. “She can't ride!”

But she seemed to have forgotten that he didn't speak Westron and he seemed to have forgotten how poor a rider I was for he pulled her over to his horse, seating her in front of him. He reached for my hand too, intending to take me next but had misjudged how it would unbalance me to loose her as an anchor. I fell back and then pitched forward to counterbalance myself. In doing so I managed to grab the front of the saddle and the mane of the horse but my legs flew back, striking the beast in the tender flanks and veering it wildly off to one side.

Newly unburdened of one rider and terrified by my kick the horse sprang forward with new effort, easily doubling its pace and outstripping Fraca and Alwil. Down we went off the side of the road on the opposite side to most riders and into the thicket of trees. A branch whipped by, catching my arm and making me gasp in pain but my knuckles remained white on the saddle. The horse was at least dodging between trees but was not paying much attention to me on its back, concerned only with running for its life it seemed now that any capable rider had abandoned it.

“Lothíriel! Grab the reins!” Alwil shouted to me but it was no use. I was holding on for dear life onto the saddle and in no position to try to reach forward far enough to grasp them where they'd fallen over the horse's neck. Fraca shouted something in Rohirric but I was too terrified to even try to understand. All I could hear was my own breath and the horses, both ragged and strained and all I seemed to see was the world whirling by at an alarming rate. I squeezed my eyes shut, panic overtaking me.

It had been one thing to be terrified when I had been called upon to deliver the baby but then at least I had known what to do. In this circumstance I had no idea how I was intended to reach for the reins or even what I would do if I caught them and the beast did not respond.

My eyes flew open and to my surprise I saw the nose of another horse out of the corner of my eye. Another rider had managed to catch up with Wídwine's runaway mount.

Without a word Éomer pulled his mount level with my horse. I met his gaze and he must have seen the stark terror in my eyes. His own were flashing with a ruthless determination and there seemed to be no room in them for any other emotion. His strong jaw was clenched tight. Wordlessly he threw down his own reins and to my surprise didn't reach for my arm but instead swung his far leg over until both legs were facing towards me and then in a smooth movement stepped onto Alwil's abandoned stirrup and slid easily behind me. Once Éomer was off his back Firefoot dropped back and fell away to give his rider and the other horse space.

Éomer's arms came up on either side of me, one going around my waist and pulling me back to a more secure position, centered and pulled tight against the firm mass of his chest. “You're alright Lothíriel, just breathe.” His voice was oddly calm and even, neither a shout nor a whisper and with nothing in his tone that might suggest we were in any peril. His other hand reached forward to grasp the reins and he carefully pulled back until the horse responded, dropping first into a trot, then a walk and then slowing completely.

The world seemed to come back and I was aware of how hard all three of us—the horse, Éomer and myself—were breathing. My heart was hammering in my chest and my chest was heaving as I drew in shallow but rapid breaths, almost gasping in fear like a fish out of water and shaking like a leaf in a gale. “Lothíriel...” Éomer didn't let go of me but rather seemed to hold me tighter, his hand splaying across my belly protectively. “Breath more slowly or you'll faint.”

He was right of course. I'd seen any number of men and women do just that. I tried to focus on taking slower, deeper breaths and calm my pounding pulse, but found it entirely impossible. The harder I struggled to contain it the more my breath came in huge, exaggerated gasps.

I turned my face away from Éomer, mortified that he might see what I was doing but the shaking of my shoulders and the hysterical little sobs escaping every time I dragged in a shuddering breath gave me away. I would have given anything I owned to regain control of myself but the harder I struggled to stop, the harder I seemed to sob.

He swung his leg over the side of the horse and slid us both down to the ground. I might have fallen if he hadn't slid one arm under my shoulders and lifted me to his chest with his other under my knees. He hefted me as if I weighed nothing and carried me to a nearby tree and set me down at the foot of it, kneeling beside me. His face was set in a grim expression I'd never seen, different even than the concentration I'd seen a moment ago.

“Where are you hurt, lass?” He must have been taught how to examine a wounded soldier on the battlefield because his hands moved with brisk purpose over my head, then ribs and limbs looking for broken bones. The cut on my arm had bled some and soaked through the sleeve, making an alarming red bloom on my shoulder. Before I could protest that the dress did not belong to me, ripped the long sleeve open more to expose the cut, a nasty gash on my upper arm that was now thankfully only bleeding sluggishly.

The suddenness of the movement and his fear was enough, thankfully, to startle me back into some kind of control. My need to reassure him proved more powerful than my desire to continue my shameful display of emotion. “I'm alright, Éomer. Not hurt... only frightened.” I managed thought my ragged gasps.

He cupped my cheek with one broad hand and let out a long breath. With one broad thumb he wiped away a left-over tear from my check. “Oh, lass, that's alright then. You'll get over a fright.”

We seemed to realize at the same time the unseemly proximity we'd adopted. As my breath suddenly stilled from frantic, panicked gasps Éomer too seemed to comprehend how close we were. His hand stilled on my cheek.

To lean forward and catch his lips with my own would have been the work of a single breath. He had one hand on the tree behind me and the other against my face. My hands seemed to itch to reach for him. The fear had heightened all my senses, opened me defenseless to the power of him. All the high emotion of the moment transmuted in a moment into a roaring passion. If I could only kiss him, even just for a moment I was sure that the cold terror making my limbs numb would break open and give way.

“Lothíriel! Are you alright! Valar! I told Fraca not to catch us!” Pounding hoof beats announced that Alwil and Fraca had caught up with us, almost a welcome disruption to the uncomfortable intensity of my thoughts.

Éomer took one last look at me and then, seeming reluctant for some reason, stood and took a step back from me as they arrived. It would not do for us to be found in such an intimate posture, even in such circumstances and even with how little suspicion there could be.

Alwil was off the horse before it had stopped moving and ran across the small clearing to me. She knelt beside me and, like Éomer, let the desire to touch me overwhelm her. Though she was less systematic then he was she let her hands flutter of my face and limbs, assuring her that nothing was seriously out of place. “Fraca I told you not to do that! I swear on the heads of all our future children if you breath a word about me serving wine tonight after this it will be a cold day in the veil when...Lothíriel are you alright?”

“She's fine. Just a little frightened and she cut her arm. But overall none the worse for it.”

“Valar I'm going to kill Fraca,” Alwil swore. “Here, Lothi, have some wine.”

She offered me the skin at her belt. I took a large swallow and forced it down. The burning sensation of it going down was welcome. The world appeared to come slightly back into a normal rhythm. The heat of the wine seemed to drop down into my stomach and then spread warmth out to my extremities that before had been numb and cold with terror. My hands stopped shaking and paradoxically my thoughts began to clear as the wine settled in. “I'm sorry about ruining your dress, Alwil…, of course I shall get it replaced once we...”

“I don't give a fig about the dress,” she said with firm finality. She took the skin back from me and took a deep swig herself. “Valar, I was scared I'd killed you.”

I shook my head. “No harm done, Alwil, really. And really, I will get the dress...”

She held up a hand to stop me. “Please don't mention the blasted dress again. We've got to bandage up your arm though, that's the most important thing.”

She began to pull at the scarf I had incorporated into her braid. I started to protest but she had it out in a minute and then began to wind the beautiful thing about my arm. “Alwil, it will get soaked  in blood...” I said, flinching back.

“Stop being so absolutely ridiculous,” she scolded me, catching me by the elbow. She wound the beautiful bandage rather inexpertly but at least tight enough to staunch the bleeding until we made it back to Edoras. The scarf would never be serviceable again of course, soaked in blood as it was. I was sorry as it had been such a beautiful thing.

Éomer raised a hand to his face and passed it over in a gesture of terror relieved. “I might need something stronger than wine myself after that, Fraca. You haven't got any brandy, have you?”

Alwil stalked back to the horse and took the skin her husband sheepishly offered forth. “No more of this for you at any rate!” she told him with a glare. “What were you thinking?”

She passed it to Éomer who took a long drink, then raised it to my lips. I took another swallow, ignoring the burning sensation it brought. “I'm fine. Honestly I'm only a little shaken.” I tried to reassure them, uncomfortable to have them all so focused on me.

Alwil sat down next to me on the soft heather at the base of the tree. “I think I should like a moment to sit and recover after such a fright,” she said. And though it was obvious that she only wanted to excuse me from the shame of not being able to walk or mount again so soon, I was grateful to her for it. “I can't face getting back up on a horse again just now.”

Éomer took another swig of the brandy, then knelt again beside me and brought it to my lips again.

“Should it not be me who is serving you, my lord? Given that you caught me,” I said, attempting a small joke to lighten the tension of the moment.

He winked. “I ended up on your horse, Lothíriel, which I think means that it's you who caught me.”

Alwil let out a hysterical little laugh. “Who would have thought that Lothíriel, who can't ride, would catch the King of Rohan in a chase!”

Éomer stroked his beard, trying to hide the familiar impish smile. “Who would have thought indeed?”

“I doubt Éowyn has been caught either. Faramir is a good rider but he doesn't match her. So that means... you'll be...” Alwil couldn't get the rest out for her tears of mirth. “You'll be...” She gestured for him to serve her and obligingly he lifted the skin to her lips. She tried to drink but laughed to hard again and had to spit some of it out on the grass.

Fraca took advantage of her incapacity for a moment to speak up. “Lady Lothíriel... I am truly sorry....” he began.

“No harm was done, Fraca. I'm only sorry that I gave everyone such a fright and caused such a fuss. I should have known better then to come on the ride.”

He grinned and said something I didn't quite follow. “He says not to say so, otherwise how would any of them have the pleasure of seeing the King of Rohan caught in a chase,” Éomer translated. He raised an eyebrow at Fraca. “Somehow I doubt though that he will _be_ served this evening.”

Fraca shook his head and spoke again.

Alwil wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. “He says he caught me fair and square and that I'm too much of a lady of honor to deny him his rights. But we'll see how much I feel the need to honor the word of a man who promised not to catch me and then did.”

When we'd all drunk a little more of the brandy and my shaking had subsided Éomer held out an arm to me. “You'll forgive me, Alwil if I request the honor of taking Lothíriel back to the city myself on Firefoot. That horse has had a scare as well and I don't think anyone should ride it again this evening. You should ride with Fraca and tether the reins to your pommel.”

In my heart I would have preferred to walk back to the city. I wasn't sure I wanted to ride on a horse ever again after what had happened. But it would have taken hours and we needed to get back for baths and to prepare for the wedding ceremony that night and I could hardly ask them all to wait for me. I considered asking to walk back alone but thought better of it. Something about the way Éomer's jaw had yet to fully unclench told me he was hardly likely to leave me alone, miles from the city after what had just happened. At least though I was able to adjust the stylish riding cloak that Alwil had lent me to cover the cut on my arm and the tear in my gown.

Unlike before though he lifted me onto the horse in front of the saddle, similar to how we had ridden when he'd come over to my horse when it was out of control. It was a more intimate and protective position then riding behind him. As it was I was almost in his arms, sheltered by his back and broad shoulders. I swallowed hard, trying not to think about how good he smelled or how I could feel his heartbeat against my back and how my thighs were pressed tight against his.

“I am very grateful my lord, but very sorry too to have caused you to have to rescue me so.”

He frowned, looking almost angry. “Bema, Lothíriel it's me who should apologize to you. I should have never taken my eyes off of you. I should have known you wouldn't do well in a chase like that.”

The image of him riding after Nibeneth came unbidden to my mind but I pushed it away. It wasn't my right to be jealous of him nor to take him away from her like this. If anything I was doing him and the courts of Rohan and Gondor a disservice. The time he wasted chasing after the dowdy sister of a family friend, making sure I was safe and not injured in a game was time he could and should have spent finding a woman that could give him an heir. Better still if he used the precious days to find a Gondorian wife, someone who would further solidify the budding bonds between the two countries.

“That will teach me to believe Alwil when she says she's brought her husband to heel. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that a Rider of Rohan was able to catch the two of us on her mother-in-law’s mount. Besides, my lord... it's not your duty to watch over me.”

He snorted. “I'm not sure if you noticed but Amrothos was hardly looking to find his sister in that fray. The last time I saw him he was riding hard after the most fetching daughter of a lord from the Westfold.”

I laughed. “Did he catch her?”

“I doubt it. Her father is a renowned master of horseflesh. All his children have particularly fleet mounts.”

“I shall make sure that he pours all my wine tonight in that case.”

“Better than he deserves.”

“How did you notice that I had gone off the path?” It was close to the question I wanted to know—had he continued to chase Nibeneth—as I dared ask.

“I heard Alwil shout your name and turned away from the group.”

“I am indebted to you, my lord.”

“Éomer.”

“I am indebted to you, Éomer.”

“You are surprised.” It was not a question. “You do not expect it? That the men in your life should protect you in this way?”

I did not expect my father or brothers, or anyone else except Ivriniel, to notice me. “I don't suppose they've ever had the occasion to practice. I've never been one to find myself in such circumstances.” I smiled. “Though you may find it difficult to believe having found me in so many unusual circumstances, my normal life is very sheltered and dull.”

“What makes you say that?”

“What do you mean? I never go to parties. My days and nights are spent helping Ivriniel arrange our stock of medicines or tending to the sick. Never before in my life have I needed to be pulled from the back of a bolting horse.”

“One might say that tending to the sick and dying hardly qualifies as a sheltered life.”

“But neither is it the kind of life that puts me into the way of needing rescue by my brothers over much.” There were no problems that Amrothos needed to solve in the houses of healing: no dangers that needed to be fended off with a sword and certainly no threats to my honor. My father and brothers did not look after me over much because I never did anything they felt might require their supervision. The only men I ever saw of my own age were generally too sick to stand on their own two legs, much less make an indecent attempt at my honor.

“No I don't suppose you need rescuing much.”

“Not in my usual life, my lord.”

“I will always rescue you, Lothíriel.”

He said it with total assurance, as if he had said it many times before or would say it many times again... as if it were a vow. The solemnity of the words made me go still in his arms. A promise from the king of Rohan was not to be taken lightly and from Éomer even less: what he said he meant. He seemed to sense my discomfort for his mouth softened into a smile. “In the rare case you should need me to.” He said to mitigate the formality of his statement.

“I shall endeavor not to need you to, my lord.”

Idly he brushed a strand of hair that had been pulled free by the wind or an errant branch on the wild ride back, behind my ear. “Do you never wear your hair down?”

I laughed, then realized he was serious. “No, my lord, I do not.”

“Why not?”

I blushed. “Well it's only... only a certain sort of woman wears her hair free in Gondor.”

His face broke into a grin. “Oh? What a shame. I'm sure you would look fine with your hair styled in one of the looser, Rohirric styles.”

He took me to the steps of Meduseld. “My lord I don't mind accompanying you to the stables again...”

He shook his head. “It's only a few hours before the ceremony. You'll need to have time for your hair to dry.”

I smiled. “No one is likely to notice my hair, Éomer.”

“We shall see.”

In my chamber Gallen drew me a steaming bath and in a rare moment of indulgence I put in some herbs that would help relax the aching muscles and pain of my cut arm, then, a little sheepishly added some extraction of rose and oranges to make my skin smell of the fruit. Gallen spent a long time combing out the wind tangles from my hair and then left me to sit by the fire in my shift to dry it and to peruse a slim little journal of a merchant from Rohan who had visited Harad in the last century.

That was how Ivriniel found me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC: Thank you all for your very generous reviews of the last chapter! As ever your kind words meant so much! I’m so glad people are taking to the story so well. And as always huge thanks to Lady Bluejay for finding my typos and correcting my awkward turns of phrase! She is a wonderful writer in her own right but she makes all my writing tangibly and definitively better! Please leave me another review on this chapter to let me know what you think. I have been particularly enjoying hearing about how readers have been relating to Lothíriel and her struggles with self-doubt, awkwardness and femininity. I love and continue to very deeply appreciate your comments and it certainly inspires me to write faster :) XO Spake


	6. Chapter 6

“I'm told you've suffered some kind of injury.”

I blushed, hurriedly pulling on a robe and flipping the book over. The journal had nothing at all informative in it and I was mostly reading it for the descriptions of one of the princesses of Harad who famously took a series of lovers but never made any her king. “Oh, no, Aunt, it's nothing at all but a scratch.”

“Let me see it then.” She'd brought her box of medicines and came to sit beside me on the hearth.

I let her draw down the shoulder of my robe to show her the wound. It was about as long as the distance from the tip of my longest finger to my wrist and the thickness of my smallest finger, not deep enough to expose muscle or fat. Already a scab was beginning to crust the edges like snow along the edge of a pond in winter.

“I'll need to stitch it. It's too wide to heal without a scar if the edges are left unclosed”

I frowned. Why would Ivriniel care if I had a scar on my shoulder? Why would anyone? I'd sown up a fair numbers of cuts for noble young ladies so that they might be unblemished on their wedding night. But there was little reason for such delicate sensibility in my case. I owned no dresses that showed my shoulders off and would have no wedding night. But neither did I want her to think I was afraid of undergoing the procedure. “Alright then.”

“Will you need milk of the poppy?”

Having drunk so much brandy to steady my nerves already I knew it wasn't a good idea, the two mixed together were a heady and potent combination that were likely to end with me on the floor rather than do me any good. But I could hardly tell Ivriniel that. “I shall be able to endure it.”

Ivriniel nodded and set to work. She had quick, lithe hands and worked with merciless precision as I fought not to tense or move unexpectedly. I had advised a thousand patients to do just that but found the advice rather harder to follow than to give. I gritted my teeth against the pain of it, managing to gasp out only once. She was done quickly and announced herself pleased with the result. She wiped the wound with spirits to clean it and then a paste to keep out inflammation, finally bandaging it with a clean cloth.

“How did Gallen manage to convey to you that I'd been hurt?” I asked as she began to tie the last bit of cloth in place. Ivriniel had not taken an interest in learning Rohirric as I had and I couldn't imagine her taking the time to puzzle out the girls heavily accented and limited Westron.

“She didn't. It was King Éomer who told me what happened.”

My blood ran still. I wasn't exactly sure why the idea of Éomer and Ivriniel meeting filled me with such a clear sense of unease but the emotion was as palpable as the heat of the fire. I liked still less the idea of them discussing the events of the day.

“What did he say?” I was unable to help the question.

“He said that you were hurt and needed to be seen to. He wanted to apologize as well to me, for not watching you more closely.”

“It is not his duty to do so.”

“I told him as much... though of course that's obvious to any rational observer.”

“Strange that he did not go to father. If he felt that the honor of the house had not been properly upheld it would be natural to go to him to rectify the situation.”

“Yes. If that had been his intention I think he would have gone to Imrahil.”

Once she had put her medicinal kit back together and cleaned the needle with alcohol and by passing it through the flame of a candle she stood and to my surprise went to the sideboard. She poured two glasses of mead and returned to the hearth. She handed both to me and then knelt again in front of me. My aunt very rarely took strong liquor. She thought they dulled the mind and the spirit to the point that no use could be made of either. The cup could therefore only be interpreted as symbolic for she put it very quickly to the side.

But symbolic of what?

“I am sorry, Aunt... for any trouble I've caused, or shame I've brought to the house.” I began hesitantly. Normally I knew what answer Ivriniel wanted. After so many years of being questioned I would have thought I'd mastered all of her moods but her silence, the mere fact that she didn't seem inclined to scold me, was something I had never encountered before. “It was not my intention to upset anyone by going on the ride.”

She did not seem to even hear the apology however for when she spoke next she did not speak of the day. “I wonder sometimes how I can forget that you are your mother's daughter.” She said, almost more to herself than to me. “You look so like her.”

I blushed. My mother had been known throughout Gondor as a great beauty. When I was a girl people had told me that I was lucky that I had only been blessed with a hint of my father's strong brow and chin and my mother's delicate features hadn't been spoiled too much by the addition. I was surprised thought to hear Ivriniel remark on it. To hear my father tell it she and my mother had been great friends, as much as Ivriniel ever had friends at least, but it was wholly unlike her to be sentimental. I stretched back my memory, trying to remember a time we had spoken of my motherbefore. Even in my first few years of mourning however I could not remember a time that we had ever spoken of her.

I could not let the opportunity pass without at least trying to take advantage of it. “Am I... am I like her in any other way?”

She considered me for a long moment, focusing the keen attention that so rarely strayed from study, on my features. “In some,” she finally decided. When she did not elaborate I knew it was futile to press her further. We sat in silence for a moment, both considering the flames.

“It occurs to me that, had your mother not been taken from us, you might have known how to ride this afternoon and this whole sorry business might have been avoided,” she said at last.

“It… it was not Alwil’s doing, nor Fraca’s…” I began, unsure of what she meant. I did not want her to forbid me from seeing Alwil again.

A rare smile touched her lips. “The King of Rohan assured me it was an unavoidable mistake, one never to be repeated.”

“I only mean to say that it’s me who is to blame of course, for the trouble.”

I had expected her to be angry that I had done something so foolish and been hurt. When Amrothos or Erchirion did something foolish, risking their necks for nothing but the joy of it, she always sighed in exasperated resignation before setting to mend their wounds.

But instead she only said. “It is unlike you, Lothíriel… to allow yourself to be put on the back of a beast you cannot control.”

I could not bring myself to meet her gaze. Ivriniel had a peculiar way of looking through my private thoughts in a way few others did. Perhaps it was only because she was the only one paying attention to me, for I had no practice keeping my own secrets and, having had very few to begin with before meeting Éomer. But if others might not imagine I pined for the handsome King of Rohan, why ever would she? She barely understood why Amrothos chased after lasses, it would be impossible for her to suspect me.

But neither was she one for sentimental reflection, so what in Middle-earth had prompted this outburst? Powerful though her mind was there was a clean elegance to it that did not brook the common weaknesses: melancholy, pining or joy... those human failings that so inevitably led to idleness. But here she was, seeming to consider a less than rational reason why her staid niece had mounted a horse that she had every reason to expect to fall off.

Did she suspect that I had fallen in love with Éomer?

It was possible that my aunt, who had never once engaged in an intrigue of any kind, had suspected what no one else had. That keen perception she used to find the maid who barely knew herself to be with child, or the cough that needed more tending then just a few nights in bed was now focused intently on me.

But whatever thoughts she had they troubled her only a moment, for she too had been busy that day. She got out a small fold of cloth in which she had preserved several herbs she'd found on her walk that morning. She spread it out by the fire and began to describe to me where she'd found them, asking me to describe each in formal terms and speculating as to their possible uses. She hardly took notice when Gallen came in to dress my hair for the evening.

Gallen had taken out my most formal dress and aired it that afternoon. If most of my gowns looked as though they were meant to be worn by someone ten years younger than me my formal dresses all looked like they were meant for someone five or six decades older than me. The gown itself was a fine dark cloth of midnight blue but the high cut of the neckline and stuffy old lace at the cuffs and looked outworn even on Ivriniel (for her gown was nearly identical, being cut by the same, very elderly tailor). To my surprise someone had removed the lace and run instead a cheerful light blue ribbon sown with red flowers around the cuffs and neckline. The shape of the gown was still prudish but the bright splash of color at the neck and cuffs made it seem at least a bit more youthful. She’d also brought a matching ribbon to band in my hair in quite a young style.

“My mother,” she explained. “As thanks for my sister.”

“It’s very beautiful,” I told her, touching the fine needlework of the flowers. Clearly her mother was some kind of seamstress and she must have had the ribbon readymade. The stitching was too fine to have been done in only a few days. It was clearly the labor of many skilled hours. “I must pay her for her work though, the gift is too fine to accept.”

Gallen shook her head. I’d spoken Westron, not knowing the words but she seemed to have taken my meaning. She replied in Rohirric something I guessed was a negative. Still I promised myself that I would go to visit the mother and babe before I left and find some way to repay the work. Perhaps she could even help me to replace the dress from Alwil I had ruined.

Ivriniel and I dressed without haste and then made our way down together to the ceremony.

The ceremony that night was enough to touch even the coldest and most cynical hearts of the court. At sunset the host of the wedding party gathered on the steps of Meduseld before filing in. The hall had been filled with thousands of candles on almost every surface giving it a luminescent glow. Faramir was waiting on the dais with King Elessar beside him and a few other great men. My father had been chosen, a great honor for my family, and stood just to the King's left.

Éowyn and Éomer arrived on horseback with her coterie. She looked radiant, dressed in a gown of pale gold that seemed to absorb the rich glow from the candles and reflect it back to all the eyes that were fixed on her as she came up the aisle. Éomer walked beside her looking stunning: proud and fierce, dressed in the traditional rich green of Rohan and with his crown on his brow. And so beautiful did Éowyn look that when she ascended up onto the dais a collective gasp seemed to whisper through the hall

It was Éomer who presided over the ceremony as we were in his home, binding together his sister's hands to Faramir's and prompting them to speak the sacred vows. Then he passed them the large, two-handed cup that represented unity in love that they were to share. When Faramir tipped his head back to drink the last dregs from Éowyn's hand the hall exploded with joy. Any other couple might have felt shy at the explosion and noise but my cousin and his bride seemed to have eyes only for each other as they sat down in the place of honor at the center of the table and were served first. Hands still bound they raised the unity cup again after it was filled, drawing another explosion of joy from we spectators.

Her brother next to her looked like he might explode with pride as Éowyn stood and spoke to the onlookers about the new peace and relationship between Gondor and Rohan, speaking of her enduring love for Faramir and her new country.

I will always remember it as a long and happy night. Éomer asked me to dance a number of times, as did a few lords from both Gondor and Rohan. I was far from being the most popular girl in the hall but I did manage to get respectably sweaty and out of breath with dancing. Even the sight of Nibeneth and Éomer dancing couldn't ruin my spirits completely. I'd never felt the joy of a party before that night and it seemed to rush up and overwhelm me in a wave of candlelight and music and sweet mead.

Amrothos had in fact not caught the woman he had been chasing but she had found him in the stables afterward to congratulate him on such a stimulating chase. Elioril her named turned out to be. She was only a few years older than me but had been married once already then sadly widowed in the First Battle of the Fords of Isen when her husband had fallen defending Théodred. She had a gay spirit though, matching Amrothos even in exuberance for dancing, and quite free with her laughter despite the fact that she was still in mourning dresses. Her Westron was not very complete but she was pleased enough to chatter away in it as well as she could, Alwil helping her along if her meaning wasn’t clear.

In the end, near dawn and long after the happy couple had departed to their marriage bed, Amrothos finally offered me his arm to leave and, wobbling on legs shaking from the fatigue of dancing and drink, we supported each other back to our own beds.

After I had undone my hair and Gallen had helped me off with my dress I let myself run my mind over the memories of the evening as some women might run fingers over precious jewels. Each moment of the night I felt would be one I would need to treasure. It was unlikely that such a night would come again to me and so every moment would needs be carefully preserved and guarded. Indulgently I let myself think about the moment when Éomer had found me in the throng soon after the feast had ended and the floor had been cleared for dancing.

He had brought a flagon of cold wine and filled my cup.

“I'm glad to see you have recovered well, Lothíriel. Your arm doesn't hurt too much I hope?”

“I am well my lord. Only ashamed of my conduct this morning.”

“You've nothing to be ashamed of, Lothíriel.”

He was dressed in the green of the house of Eorl trimmed with kingly gold, looking good enough to make my heart turn over in my chest. Every inch the Lion of Rohan he looked: a crown on his brow and his sword gleaming at his side. In the brooch that held fast his cloak however there was a familiar sprig of juniper clasped within. It was such a subtle thing that even I barely noticed: protection in battle and I had given it to him.

I knew of course the story of his heroism at the battle of Pelennor: how he had fought so fiercely when he thought Éowyn was dead such as to turn the entire tide of battle to our favor. At her wedding it was easy to see how much he loved and valued her, how easy it was to imagine him desperate to protect her. It was surprising how much it pained me to think of him so desperate though. I had never seen Éomer bloody from battle and never wished to either. It took my breath away to imagine him in peril. The strength of him, the raw power of his shoulders, breast and legs were protection of sorts but nothing could guarantee him safety. There was still trouble on the western border of Rohan with the Dunlendings, intermittent flares of violence that could threaten his kingdom or worse his life. But more than that it was the very soul of him that would never make him truly safe.

He was a warrior to his very truest heartstring. Battle would find him always.

I reached out to touch the token but drew back my hand shyly before reaching my mark. “You do me honor, sir.”

“A woman who can save the lives of mothers and babes and not lose her head on the back of a running horse—her gifts should be treasured. Now come, dance with me.” He took my cup and put it on a nearby table and then swept me onto the dance floor.

In my room I let Gallen untangle my hair and brush it out for bed. The pulsing desire for him had grown all evening—a heady and painful mixture of loneliness and agonizing want. I wanted to claim and be claimed by him. To have him near me was not enough, to have him within me would barely suffice. I got into bed and pulled the cold sheets over my bare legs. I could almost feel his palm against my waist as sleep came slowly.

 

 

 

 

 

The next afternoon the party began to break up. The the Great West Road saw a constant stream of carriages and horses as the court of Gondor, with some real reluctance, began to return home. The stratagem to bring the two courts and countries together to promote friendship and closer ties between them had clearly been successful. The steps of Meduseld rang with promises to return, expressions of regret that the party was over and exultation over what a fine ceremony it had been. Éowyn, Éomer and Faramir, tired thought they must have been, stood on the steps for hours to see of their guests with courtesy and fond expressions.

I meanwhile had been sent on an errand by my aunt to find her some ginger and wild onions for a tea she made before she traveled which she said helped the nauseous feeling of the cart going over uneven roads. She was in no hurry to travel that day, having decided to wait a few days for the roads to clear before setting out for home. I'd had to walk long in the fields to find a sufficient quantity of the particular kind of wild onions she required and was quite exhausted. She'd woken me early with barely enough sleep and my head was aching still from the mead the night before.

“Lothíriel!”

As ever the physical presence of him was enough to make my palms begin to sweat. I smiled though and tried to ignore the venomous looks from the women who were in line to say goodbye to the newlyweds and the King as he broke from his place by the door and came down the steps to take my basket from me.

“Westu hal, Éomer.” I said, bobbing a curtsey. “It’s a fine day for a ride,” I added in Rohirric, a traditional greeting for the morning.

His smile was like the sun. “Westu hal, Lothíriel. Who taught you that?”

He took my arm and guided me up the steps into the cool, refreshing hall. Compared to the brilliant sun the hall seemed dim compared to the outside world and for a moment my eyes struggled to adjust. “Wídwine. She says I need to learn to speak Rohirric. I told her I was only here a short time but I would try what words I could.”

“Interesting that she should say so. Do you mind joining me in my study for a moment? I have something I would talk with you about. That is, if you're not too tired.”

“Not at all.”

He glanced into my basket. “No flowers today?”

“Back to my usual activities, where my talents truly lie: collection of the useful and mundane.”

“Not even a sprig of juniper to brighten the assortment?”

“I'm afraid my aunt had no need of that plant today. If I'd known you were interested, my lord, of course I would have found you some.”

“I don’t doubt you would, Lothiriel. It seems to me that I find you often on the errand of one person or another. I would hate to add to your tasks.”

“Not at all, my lord. Any use I can be to you would bring me only joy.” The words were convention but beneath them I couldn’t fail to recognize the truth of them.

His study was not as I had imagined it. It was far neater than I had expected: every paper and book accounted for. Living as a rider must have taught him a certain discipline about equipment that spilled over into other aspects of his life. The desk was large and imposing, carved with elaborate scenes of men and horses running together. But he led me instead to two comfortable chairs by the window.

“For all that I said just now about not adding to your tasks I find I must recant. I have both a favor to ask and a gift to give. Which do you prefer we start with?”

A favor and a gift? I couldn't fathom either. “I couldn't say, my lord.”

“Éomer,” he gently corrected.

“I couldn't say, Éomer.”

He sat and for a moment simply looking at me, as if deciding where to start. I fought not to physically squirm under his scrutiny. I brushed an errant hair that had escaped my braid back and forced myself to meet his eyes. Finally he said. “Let us start with the gift then. I shouldn't want your acceptance of the favor to be a condition on accepting it.”

He went to the desk and returned with a small linen handkerchief wrapped around something small. “Hold out your hand, lass.”

I obeyed and he put it into my palm. I put the parcel on my lap and tried to remember the last time anyone had given me a gift before deciding I couldn't. I peeled back the folds and found myself smiling. Inside was a large glass button. It had a fine gold base supporting a small bubble of glass. Inside the glass was suspended a perfect blue flower.

“Please don't try to grind it up. And please don't think I'm teasing you. It's for your box of medicines. I saw you struggle with the strap to fasten it closed the other day. The button you have is not the right size. I think this one will do better.”

“It's the blue poppy you told me about isn't it? It’s smaller than I expected.”

“It is. It’s just beginning to bud in fact, they can grow much larger still.”

“It's lovely, Éomer, thank you very much.”

“You'll accept it then?”

“I don't know what I did to deserve it, but I am afraid I like it too much to refuse out of politeness,” I told him with a smile. I lifted the mead to toast him in thanks and he returned the gesture, both of us drinking deeply.

I fingered the button in my lap. I did like it too much to refuse but I wondered if it was a good idea for me to accept, knowing that every time I saw it I would think of him. It was one thing to suffer infatuation for a few days and let it fade. I felt I should have known better than to allow things like this that would prolong the misery of waiting for unreturned emotions to fade.

“The favor I have to ask now. It's rather more than a favor, it's more like a service.”

My stomach felt like it was dropping. Did he assume I knew one of the Gondorian ladies he wished to court? That I would be able to carry messages for him?

“I spoke with your Aunt last night and I mentioned that I would be interested to have a catalog of the medicinal plants of Rohan. It's never been done before and it would be hugely beneficial. Most of our herbs have to be imported from Gondor at great cost because the uses of our local ones are not well known. Your Aunt agreed as well that it would be... how did she phrase it exactly? ‘Significant use of one's time.’ She said that she did not however at her age have the energy spend so much time traveling or living away from Dol Amroth.” He took a breath. “So I've come to ask the favor of you, Lothíriel.”

“I...”

“Amrothos I'm sure would stay with you, he's already been hinting he'd like to hunt some of the forests near Aldburg so I'm sure I can tempt him to be your chaperone. And you would of course be under my protection as well. You need not fear for any danger or lack of comfort, I would see to anything you needed personally.”

My hands twisted in my lap. “I... that is... I'm not sure that my Aunt will be able to spare me is all. She is awfully busy in the spring with all that's done in the garden and everything else. I honestly can't imagine...”

He frowned. “Lothíriel if you do not wish to do it you need only say so and I will of course understand. But you should know that it was your Aunt who suggested I approach you.”

I blinked. “Ivriniel suggested this?”

“Indeed. I understand of course if you do not wish to separate yourself from your Aunt for so long but I would ask you to consider it.”

I tried to make myself consider it and all the repercussions it could have on me. If I was this besotted with Éomer after only such a short time how much worse would it be to part with him after such a prolonged period? I had worried that the button would make it difficult to forget him but that would pale in comparison to the effect of the man himself.

And how would I be without Ivriniel? How would I function without her? As much as I sometimes resented her intrusions on my freedom I had never been parted from her for more than a few days at a time since I was fourteen. I relied on her to structure my days, telling me what was expected of me. It was she who defined, in her own way, what was and was not proper conduct for my own peculiar life. More than that she was my only real companion. I had grown used to her dictates and, sometimes, harsh words. To be parted from her would be difficult indeed.

But in the end there was no choice to be made. I would have done anything that Éomer asked of me.

“Yes.”

“Truly?”

“Of course, Éomer. How proud I would be to do my small part in the new alliance between Rohan and Gondor, as well as possibly discovering new ways to treat illness. I could never refuse that.” Much though I did care of the future of Rohan and Gondor I was not, if truth is to be told, thinking of that. I was only thinking of how to extend my time with him, by any means or any price to myself necessary.

My reward was exactly as I deserved. He jerked me to my feet with a smile that made my heart seem to turn over in my chest. Already cold and lengthening shadows of doubt and regret began to creep in at the eves of excitement that had been struck up at the prospect of accepting his offer. What had I gotten myself into? How would I be able to endure it? What could have possessed me to say yes? And still… I wanted him to keep looking at me with that benevolent smile for as long as possible.

“Lothíriel you have made me very happy today. Come! We must celebrate. Have a drink with me, Lothíriel, I ask you please.”

He went to the desk and drew out a bottle of mead and two glasses. He poured out two generous helpings and handed me one. “To you, here in Rohan.”

I raised my glass and we both drank.

“Lothíriel you have made me very happy today. Come! We must celebrate. Have a drink with  me, Lothíriel, I ask you please.” 

He went to the desk and drew out a bottle of mead and two glasses. He poured out two generous helpings and handed me one. “To you, here in Rohan.” 

I raised my glass and we both drank.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost thanks to Lady Bluejay as always for reading this for you despite the fact that she is on holiday. What a hero! And thank you all for your generous reviews! I feel truly spoiled. I hope you like the chapter and I really hope that you’ll take the time to share with me how you feel about this development! Are you excited that Lothi is going to stay? What do you think or hope she will do in Rohan and without Ivriniel? What do you think will become of our two heros?


	8. Chapter 7

Ivriniel and my father decided to settle us in a small house very near Meduseld. Or perhaps the more truthful way of telling it is to say that Alwil decided on the house and Ivriniel and my father supplied the funds. The proximity to Meduseld would allow Amrothos easier access to the training ground and myself better access to the large gardens (though it sported a small garden of it's own and a rather fine little yard behind). She had also made sure that our front door was only a few steps from her own. “I think I can persuade Gallen to continue on as Lothíriel’s lady's maid now that you are no longer to be her escort Lady Ivriniel,” Alwil said as she took tea with my family in our parlor the first day we moved into the house. “She's a good girl from a reputable family and you're not likely to find another lady's maid with better Westron.”

It had not, of course, occurred to anyone at all that I would need a lady's maid now that there were no large parties anticipated but once she had said it no one seemed inclined to question that I should have one. “I think with her and a cook you shall only need one or two lads who can tend to Amrothos and fetch water and firewood for you,” she told my father with the casual air someone might adopt arranging flowers at their leisure. “I'm sure I can find you good people if you need any additional help for them.”

Amrothos and I, who had not thought to have someone to do more than cook for us and fill our cisterns and empty our chamber pots, exchanged schooled glances and then hid them behind our cups as Ivriniel decided that we should certainly need at least another girl to do the laundry and help the cook as Gallen couldn't be expected to do too much and would almost certainly be needed to accompany me on herb-gathering expeditions. “Perhaps another lad wouldn't be out of place either,” my father chimed in pensively. “To help with the laundry and carry any larger specimens Lothíriel might find.”

“He could also take her somewhere on horseback should she need to go and Amrothos be unavailable.” Alwil added helpfully.

“I'm surprised at how much Ivriniel seems to have taken to your new friend,” Amrothos said when we had both escaped into the garden after tea to laugh at the veritable household of servants Alwil had decided we needed. “I would have thought them natural enemies with so little in common.”

“That puzzles me as well,” I admitted. “She is very clever though, which Ivriniel never fails to recognize or appreciate in another.”

“I would have said the same thing only about her response to another person with a will of iron,” he said with a smile. “Though truth be told I'm rather fond of her too after this afternoon. I think we'll end up living better here than in Dol Almroth with all the retainers around to wait on us!”

The house itself was simple but more than large enough for us, with a small solarium that Ivriniel had converted into a laboratory for me. She left me most of what equipment and resources we had brought and promised to send more of what I would need when she arrived in Dol Amroth. She helped me carefully lay out my labeled jars, mortar and pestle and various instruments for distillation, two herb presses, a set of cooking crocks of various sizes plus a large quantity of grain alcohol before she nodded with satisfaction. “Yes this will do. You will need more jars of course but I'm sure you can find those here. I shall send you a larger herb press and more drying racks from Gondor, as they will be hard to commission here. And you'll need this.”

From her box she drew a large package wrapped in heavily oiled paper and unwrapped it on the counter. It was a large plain but very finely bound book. There was no ornamentation except for the initials LDA and a tiny swimming swan that were branded in the corner in small neat letters. I flipped open the pages and found that they were blank. “For you to record your findings. I shall look forward to reading so mind that your hand is neat.”

“Thank you, Aunt Ivriniel.... thank you very much, for everything.”

She considered me for a moment. I wonder if she thought I meant for the gift, for my education or for my unexpected freedom. To be honest I wasn't sure even I knew what I was expressing gratitude for. Finally she said, “I've never given you anything, Lothíriel that you did not earn.”

I hardly knew what to say to that so I simply nodded and accepted the book, putting it high up on a shelf where I wouldn't inadvertently get it dirty. “Nevertheless.... thank you.”

Amrothos and I watched from the steps of Meduseld as the carriage that took Ivriniel wound it's way down the main road and across the plain for as long as we could see it, my father riding beside. For a long time after the column of carriage and riders faded into the color of the plain we just stood together silently. Amrothos had been in training with my father as a warrior since he was younger than I had been training with Ivriniel as a healer. Though he'd had more freedom than I had, neither of us had ever felt this far from our family before, set loose on the sea of life to chart our own course.

Once when I was very little, before our mother had passed to the veil, Amrothos had woken me from my bed to take me sailing in the middle of the night. We'd sailed out together on a calm sea and come across what sailors call a “burning sea” where mysterious lights seem to shine on the tops of waves, coming brilliantly awake as the boat cuts through them and then fading back into the dark still sea once it has passed. He cut the skiff again and again through the sea as I watched in stunned amazement. “I found it last night and knew you had to see it,” he had told me.

“It's incredible Amrothos.” I had breathed.

He'd pointed out over the dark water. “We could sail to Edhellond by morning with this wind you know.”

“Could we?”

“I think so.”

But instead we'd turned the skiff around and headed back out of the burning sea to sleep and be found in our own beds the next morning, with none any the wiser. But at this moment it felt as though we really had turned our prows towards unknown waters.

Amrothos finally turned to me and said, “There's a picnic on the banks of the Snowbourn this afternoon. We should go ask the cook to prepare us a hamper.”

I laughed. “I really should dry the rest of the heather-moss today.”

He shook his head. “I'll not take no for an answer, Lothi. Don't make me toss you over my shoulder like a raider.”

For a moment I felt torn between the familiar old impulse to do what was expected and an unexpectedly strong swell of wild, elated freedom. “Alright then.”

“Good girl, now go get your cloak on.”

I rode behind Amrothos while he balanced the hamper in front of him. It was quite a large party and festive, with most of the Rohirric court still in Edoras and in the mood for celebration. I was quite content to gawk at the ladies in their beautiful dresses as we joined the stream of horses going down to the river. The party settled itself on a fine little swell with a grand view of the Snowbourn. Amrothos tied up the horse and spread out a large blanket for me to sit on, then gallantly unpacked the hamper. Our new cook had spoiled us with cold chicken, good bread and double stuffed eggs and very good cold white wine. He poured me out a generous helping of wine and then joined a group of men who were hunting with bows and arrows in the nearby forest. Unable to help myself as ever, my eyes searched for Éomer amongst the men but he was nowhere to be seen.

Luckily I had anticipated that I would not keep Amrothos's undivided attention for long and fetched a book out of the saddlebag and spread it on my lap to enjoy with the wine and sunshine. Around me I let the pleasant, lilting and unfamiliar sound of Rohirric intermix with the sound of the river and the heady, slow feeling of the wine and the unusual freedom of an afternoon outside with no plants to collect.

Amrothos had thoughtfully spread the blanket beneath the shade of a great tree which I could lean against and watch the world go by over the top of my book, just the way I liked it. I watched my brother stalk the scrub brush at the edge of the forest and bring down a running rabbit with a shout of joy. I watched two women fishing at the edge of the Snowbourn.

A great swell of contentment and glorious freedom seemed to wash over me. I put the book aside and lay down on the blanket to watch the cloudless sky for a moment. Alwil found me there a little later and invited herself to enjoy the wine and picnic with me and it was even more pleasant with company. When we were tired of simply watching the clouds she worked on a pretty little bit of elaborate embroidery and I returned to my book. Wídwine joined us, then Amrothos and Elinior (who he had somehow managed to run into during the hunt) and for the first time in my life it was up to me to play hostess, dishing out food and drink and making sure none were wanting for anything.

It was an unexpected joy to be so central to the party, pouring out the wine when someone’s cup neared its finish and making sure all had enough of the chicken, eggs, bread and even oranges which Ivriniel had given the cook. It gave pleasure to make sure I had seen to all. “Where is Fraca?” Amrothos asked as I turned my attention to packing up the basket when the sun began to fade and the party broke up. “I would have liked a try using that fine bow he has this afternoon.”

Alwil, who had been helping me to put the remnants of food back, went suddenly still. “He went to the western border just this morning. There is some small trouble with those Wild Men, I've been told.” Her smile was a little too bright. “I told him as a wild man himself he was perfectly suited for such a mission.”

There was no need to ask where Éomer was then either. I fought not to shiver, suddenly feeling as though I had been plunged into cold water despite the warm spring air. In Gondor the destruction of Sauron had meant a definitive end to the fighting but the wild men and orcs who had fought for the White Head of Saruman had only lost a portion of their strength. They were not the threat to Rohan they had been, particularly not now that the King was no longer under the influence of Wormtongue, but there was still raiding and encroachments on the western border.

Alwil, who had been in fine spirits before, laughed uproariously on her way back up to the keep, listening to a story that Wídwine told her with apparent good cheer. But I couldn't help but feel that some of the spark had gone out of her eyes when she had been reminded of where her husband had gone. Nor did it escape my notice that Elinior had been careful to take her arm on the walk back and gave it a reassuring squeeze as they parted. She did not speak any words of false reassurance, only offered an arm.

Amrothos and I fell into a happy routine during the days that followed. We both woke early and took breakfast together. Then he would go to the training yards or out to ride or hunt with the other men while I spent most of my mornings either riding or walking out to look for and collect herbs. My afternoons I spent preparing them and quantifying and cataloging their properties. In addition to my work in the book that Ivriniel had left me a healthy part of my day was also spent tending to the sick. Word always travels quickly of a skilled healer and soon my days were even busier than they'd been in Dol Almroth. Without Ivriniel to share the load I was sometimes up all night with a difficult labor, only to get back in time to be told of an elderly person with putrid lungs who needed tending.

Gallen soon became an invaluable companion. Though I had no need of many of the usual tasks a ladies maid might perform she took quickly to compounding potions and helping me to create and organize my apothecary. She was a quick study and I found she had an exceptional memory and sharp eye for detail, two traits that I had acquired only by great pain and labor. Even without being able to read and write I found that she had a prodigious ability to remember many complicated methods of compounding the materials I needed for healing after being shown the procedure only once.

Alwil had less patience and enthusiasm for the menial tasks we performed, grinding up herbs and waiting for various kettles or pans to boil and adopt the proper consistency. She could sometimes be pressed into service if it was a grim day outside or if the work was not too tedious or malodorous but she took no true pleasure in it. It was she who decided that Gallen should be taught to read and write Westron and that task she fell to with more conviction that she ever showed for watching a kettle boil. Rohan was blessed with prodigious rains that summer—a boon for both me and the farmers for it trapped both of my assistance in my solarium for many hours at a time.

One such rainy morning found us watching a compound for a failing pulse that required careful management of the flame so as not to bring it to a full boil. Or rather if truth be told it was I who was watching the fire. Alwil and Gallen were arm in arm on the only comfortable seat in the room, both enjoying the seat together as it was large enough to fit them both comfortably and positioned to receive the best light filtering in from the window. It was such a dark day however they'd lit three candles beside them and were pouring over a book that Alwil had brought – a romantic tale about an Elven queen whose lover was transformed into a wolf by dark magic. Gallen was sounding out the words slowly with Alwil helping her over the more difficult syllables and meanings.

So entranced were they in their task that it was only I who heard the knock on the door and went to answer it. It was one of the servants from the Meduseld kitchen looking shyly down at his feet. His name was Boron and I knew immediately why he had come. I had tended to his grandmother just the week before as she suffered from a chronic cough, typical for a woman her age who had spent so many years working in the kitchens. The smoke of burning wood had left her vulnerable to inflammation of the lungs. He bowed deeply, still not meeting my eyes. He was a timid lad, large for his age but with a gentleness that I did not find was typical in a lad of fourteen. I had the impression that he did not find it easy to come and find me when his grandmother needed me and only his clearly apparent love for her allowed him to find the will to do so.

I did not make him ask. “Come in, Boron and give me a moment to fetch my cloak and medicines,” I told him. “There is some tea left from the morning. You should have some if you haven't eaten yet.”

Gallen looked up at my words, finally managing to drag herself from the story. “Oh, my lady! Let me help you!”

I waved her off. “No, Gallen, don't come with me today. It doesn't make sense for all of us to get soaked in the storm. Besides I shall need someone to manage the flame and complete the recipe or the morning will have been wasted.”

“All of us?” Alwil snorted, looking out at the rain that was lashing the windows. “I certainly didn't offer my services to accompany you. I can send for Fraca if you wish to go on horseback however.” Her husband had returned just two days previously with news that the fighting had died down some and half the men had been allowed to return to Edoras.

I shook my head. “Don't trouble him. Amrothos is at the stables already, helping Elinior and her father with the foaling. I'll ask him to take me.”

I arranged my medicine bag with all I felt I would need and donned my cloak. Though Ivriniel did not care much for fashion she at least cared a great deal about keeping dry on a rainy day. The cloak I had for rain was fur lined and rubbed with a compound we made from duck fat that kept the water from soaking through to the inside. I also donned my thickest leather boots and laced them up tightly against the water. But in a storm there was no way to keep from getting wet entirely. The short walk to the stables soaked my face and the bottom of my skirt making it cling indecently to my legs and boots. I wrung out my skirt as best I could upon entering the stable and a kindly stable boy lent me a cloth to dry my face.

The stable was mostly empty except for the boy. The horses were all in from the pastures of course but he seemed to be the sole human occupant I could see. “Where is my brother Amrothos? The other Gondorian?” I asked the boy in Rohirric when I was as decent as I could make myself.

“The last of the foals for today was born just an hour ago. The men all went to a tavern to celebrate afterward.”

I fought the urge to swear. Amrothos could be anywhere in the city and I didn't have the time to look for him! If Boron had come to me it meant that his grandmother couldn't wait for Amrothos to get back from who knew how many hours, much less for him to sober up to a degree fit to mount a horse. Nor was there even any guarantee that Amrothos might return at all that night. Without remark or explanation he had taken to coming home from visiting Elinior at increasingly late hours.

Neither did I want to walk back to see if Fraca could be found to take me. I didn't doubt that he would volunteer immediately but it was not the same as imposing on my own brother, particularly as he had returned so recently from the fighting.

At least I had been a number of times to visit Boron's grandmother and was fairly sure I could find my way, even in the dim light and driving rain. So I squared my cloak as best I could and set back out into the rain. The village was not far, no more than an hour’s walk on a fair day but in the inclement weather I had to walk more slowly and soon I was soaked through. The water splashed up from puddles or wicked up my dress from the bottom and soon it was as if I had on no cloak at all and I was shivering despite the fur. At least there were no horses passing me on the road to splash more mud on my boots I thought ruefully in an attempt to console myself, as I seem to be the only one foolish enough to be out in this storm.

I was glad indeed to see the village come into focus out of the haze and darkness and I was able to locate the small cottage where she lived easily enough. I knocked once and then door was opened by a pretty young lass named Glírher, Boron's younger sister. “Oh, my lady! Bless you for coming, please come in and let me take your cloak.”

She ushered me in and helped me out of my cloak. When she saw the state of my dress beneath she nearly gasped. “Oh, my lady, you never should have come without a horse! You'd better take that off at once or you'll catch inflammation yourself. Come and sit close to the fire while I find you something of mine to wear.”

“V...v...very kind of you,” I managed through chattering teeth.

The cottage was only a single room and even over the storm I could hear that the old lady was not breathing well but tending to her with cold and dripping hands would do no good. Glírher went to the dresser and fetched out a simple cotton shift and dress for me as I wrung out my hair as best I could. “I'm sorry I have nothing finer to offer you, my lady.”

“I can only offer my sincere thanks for the thought,” I told her honestly as she helped me out of my sodden dress and shift.

She was perhaps a little taller than me but overall the clothes fit well, though unfamiliar and tight due to the proper bodice. It was a Rohirric style so had looser sleeves then the dress Alwil had let me borrow for the wedding ride but still it provoked the unfamiliar sensation of having the femininity of my body emphasized rather than hidden.

But I had little enough time to dwell on that for there were tasks to be done. I put on a kettle of water and began to parcel out the various teas I knew I would need. With the teas set to steep I went to the woman to examine her. She wasn't fevering but the pulling of the muscles at her neck and belly gave away how hard she was working to breathe. Even her greeting seemed to cost her breath and she spoke in short bursts of words through pursed lips I raised a hand, waving off further formalities she might feel obliged to observe. I took her pulse and listened to her chest, pressing a small metal horn to her breast to hear the sound better.

As the afternoon wore on and I was able to coax her into drinking some of the teas and rub some unguent on her chest that smelled strongly of mint. The labor of her breathing broke, dimming down to the chronic wheeze she would have until the end of her days. Outside the weather seemed to mirror her condition, the rain slowing to a dull mist. When I was satisfied she was out of danger I turned my attention to sorting out the various teas and oils she would need for the next few days and laying them out in a particular order so that her granddaughter could administer them. “I shall come back to check on her the day after tomorrow to make sure that she continues to improve,” I promised as I packed up the rest of my medicines into my case.

“Thank you, my lady!” the girl said. “Thank you for coming!”

I turned my attention back to my dress and frowned. The girl had hung my dress and shift by the fire but both were still filthy and damp. I did not relish the thought of putting the cold, clammy cloth back on for the walk back. The rain had let up but it would be a miserable walk in the dirty garments. The girl followed my gaze and seemed to guess my though. “Oh no, my lady! You must allow me to launder them and bring them back to you! It will only be a few days if the sun continues to be fair tomorrow I shall bring them to you as soon as they are dry.

I hesitated, knowing that the dress I was wearing was likely her finest, judging by the little embroidered flowers at the collar and hem, and not wanting to take it from her. “I shall return this dress of course,” I said hesitantly.

“Yes of course, my lady. And you must take some apples for your trouble as well, our tree has the sweetest in the village.” She found a sack and filled it generously from a basket by the door. She hesitated. “I should walk you back to Edoras however...”

I shook my head. “Stay here and tend to your grandmother. The walk back isn't far and it will be pleasant enough since you've been kind enough to lend me fresh clothes.”

As I walked back the sun broke finally and seemed to burn up the clouds. The puddles of water on the road and dew over the fields made the brilliance of it even greater and suddenly I felt quite cheerful. I pushed back the hood of my cloak and threw it open to let the sun shine on my arms and face. It had been a few days of miserable weather and it felt good to be outdoors again. I wagered that by the time I got back Alwil would have taken the opportunity to go for a ride. I was sorry to have missed the chance to accompany her and sorry too that I had trapped poor Gallen in the solarium tending the fire while I was our enjoying the world.

The noise of horses drew my attention and I turned to glance back, wondering how far off the road I could get to reasonably assure myself I wouldn't get too much mud on Glírher's finest skirt. But then I saw him and all thought froze.

He was in full armor but had taken off his helm. His hair was still slightly damp from the rain, darker than it's usual dark blond. He had tied it back in his usual style for riding or fighting so that it was out of his face. He was dressed in a simple tunic and riding breaches. Like me he seemed to be determined to enjoy the sudden sunshine as he wore no cloak at all. After so many days I might have hoped that the effect he had on me would have diminished but if anything I found I had not remembered the potency of it correctly. My heart lurched, contracting in painful longing at the sight of him and already I could feel myself calculating the distance between us, how many paces it would take to be in his arms. He had clearly been riding for days in the rain for Firefoot's hooves were filthy with mud and his tack and equipment, though he had clearly taken pains to tend to it showed the marks of time spent without anywhere that was truly clean.

It was strange to see him in the flesh again. I had thought of him so much in his absence that for a moment I wasn't sure that I was really seeing him. It might only be another dream or daydream of mine, for though he had been away my thoughts had never been able to stray too far from him. But the effect of him was clear enough, ringing like a great bell through my senses.

Behind him rode close to thirty riders, not enough to represent a full éored but more likely some portion of it that had been chosen to accompany their king back to Edoras. They all looked in a similar state to him, having no doubt ridden for many days and slept out in the rain when they could not find an inn.

I might have wondered if he would notice me on the side of the road but the second I turned he lifted an arm. “Lothiriel!” His voice carried down the road to me, seeming to root me in my tracks. I raised a hand to wave back timidly.

At a motion from him the troop picked up their pace slightly and crossed the remaining distance to me in a trice. The troop flowed forward, surrounding the two of us—perhaps out of force of habit from practice accosting strangers, perhaps out of curiosity. Éomer swung down off the horse and bowed.

“Westu hal, Lothíriel,” he said. The smile he gave me made something below my stomach clench and my toes curl in my boots. He caught one hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles.

“Westu hal, Éomer,” I managed to stammer back. “You're back?  Does that mean the fighting has ended?” ~~~~

“Yes, for the moment I'm pleased to say it has.” His gaze flicked over my form and I had to struggle not to squirm. “Have I been gone that long? You've become a proper Erolingas in my absence.”

“The clothes were lent me by the granddaughter of a woman I was tending. I'm afraid I got caught in the storm on the walk there.” I was intensely aware of the ridiculousness of the clothes I was wearing, both uncharacteristically womanly and far too informal. I shifted the sack of apples I had been given awkwardly in my hands, wishing I wasn't holding the sack and was still concealed by my own frumpy dress.

“What a pity. They suit you so well.”

I had not the first idea what to say to that. I tried to imagine what Nibeneth would say if it were her who he was greeting on the road dressed in the clothes of a common girl of the Mark. But it was impossible to imagine her in such a situation. So instead I fell back on formal correctness. “I'm glad you're back in Edoras, my lord... that is to say I'm glad that the fighting must be over, or at least died down for you to have returned.”

He did not follow my lead however, but leant forward to touch the braid lying over my shoulder. “Still wearing your hair up I see. And no flowers to adorn you yet.”

“You are the only one who remarks, my lord.”

“And how is your arm? Healing well I hope. And I trust you've not got up to anything worse than walking through a rainstorm in my absence.”

I laughed at that. “You return from battle to ask me about a scratch from ages ago? Should I not be the one asking you if you are hurt, my lord?”

He grinned. “I told you I would always rescue you, Lothíriel. I would scold you for walking through the rain without coming to fetch me to take you if I had been in Edoras.”

“You would scold me for not finding the King of Rohan to take me riding to a village in the rain?”

He winked. “You're lucky I'm not scolding you now, lass. It's only to maintain your air of aloof and refined culture in front of my men that is preventing me.”

“Oh? Well I do thank you for that. I should hate to lose face in front of such fine looking soldiers as these.”

“No that would never do. Come now, be a good girl and let me take you back to Edoras.”

He lifted me onto the back of Firefoot behind the saddle. His hands went about my waist and it felt like lightening flashed through to my toes from where we touched. This close I could smell him. Beneath the scent of the rain and soaked wool and dust from the road his own particular masculine smell made my heart pound and clouded my senses more than a strong draft of spirits. And the feeling of large hands lifting me up almost effortlessly made my stomach lurch thinking of how it would feel to have him do the opposite. It was so easy to imagine those large fingers tangling in my hair, pushing me back onto the thick carpet of grass by the side of the road or into a soft bed, skimming down my form and then pulling me flush against his own strong length, claiming what it found.

He swung up in front of me and gave another command in Rohirric that I didn't quite catch but produced the effect of having the men re-order themselves into the column they had previously been in. I slipped a slim hand around his waist to anchor myself, trying not to think about how good it felt to be this close to him or how much I wanted to press my cheek to his shoulder. If I could have, I would have swept his damp hair to one side and pressed a soft kiss to the back of his neck to let him know how much I had missed him, how much I wanted to take off the armor, piece by piece and examine him head to toe. If I were his woman I would have taken slow time to assure myself that he was not hurt, that he was the hale and healthy man he seemed to be once he had taken his fill of food and drink and any pleasure I could offer him.

“So, lass, what have you been doing since I left? Tell me news of the hall.”

“Are you not too weary from the journey?”   
“I am bone weary indeed. Tell me of your exploits to keep me from falling from my saddle.”

“Very well then.”

I told him all that I knew of what had gone in Meduseld and Edoras since he last left but when I ran out of that I began to tell him about my own adventures, which he surprised me by taking great interest in. He wanted to hear about the plants I'd found, babies I'd helped birth and people I'd tended to.

“Lady Alwil is teaching your maid how to read?” he asked with real interest. “In Westron?”

“She is indeed. She's picking it up at a prodigious rate too.”

“Éowyn mentioned that one of the reasons she chose her as your ladies maid was her quick wits and her eagerness to learn.”

“She did me a blessing then.”

“Gallen too by the sounds of it.”

“What do you mean?”

  
“Being able to read and write Westron will be a boon indeed for a girl of her station. She could go into business writing letters for merchants if she wished with that skill or transcribing books for noble lords or even teaching others to read and write. If she wants a family she might marry someone quite a bit above her station as well, a horse breeder or a trader perhaps.”

“I should be happy to think so. She's done so much to help me, I should like to think I might leave her with more than just her wages... even if it is mostly Alwil who thought the project up in the first place.”

“I wonder if Lady Alwil might be persuaded to teach a few other girls in Edoras the same way? It would be a great help to trade if there were more scribes available.”

My eyebrows raised. “Do you think their parents would spare them for such a project? Would they not send their sons instead do you think?”

“They might... an educated child would be a blessing for many families regardless of sex. I only think that there might be... fewer sons in surplus these next score of years.”

I felt like a fool. Of course I knew that many young men had been killed in battle. It was easy enough to see simply by walking around Edoras. Women carrying water, butchering meat, splitting wood... tasks they might not have had to do if a husband, brother or son was still breathing. It would be difficult to justify sparing a strong back to learn to read and write while his sister might be available to earn the same. “Oh, of course. I hadn't thought of that. Forgive me, Lord Éomer. It's only in Gondor it might not be seen as quite proper for a girl to be educated while her brother was not.”

“Why not?”

“It's only it would not be the proper order of things. I think many families would think the girl would not take the task as seriously perhaps? Or that it would hurt her chances of making a favorable match if she was seen as spoiled or above her station.”

“It has not been my experience that girls take things less seriously than boys.” His was the queer almost playful tone that I had ~~seen~~ heard before, a remnant of what had to have been a troublesome and wild boy who had not been wholly subdued by the years and tragedies. “Particularly not when it comes to tasks that require them to sit still and concentrate for many hours in a day.”

“Might you speak from personal experience, my lord?” The words were out in a little mocking tone before I could think better of them.

He turned, to regard me from the corner of his saddle as he rode, appearing to size me up before answering. “I may have driven a few tutors to resign.” His smile widened. “Only one or two, mind you, a mere handful.”

“Oh?” I raised a quizzical eyebrow. “And pray tell how did you manage that?”

“The usual methods: gifts of toads in their dressers and horseradish in their porridge. One I put whole a plague of animals, serpents and insects in his room but had failed to consider which might be natural predators of the others, as I had never paid much attention to taxonomy lessons. In the end there was only one rather full and happy ferret left, curled up and digesting at the bottom of his bed. Fortunately that was enough to convince him that there were easier ways to earn his bread than to try to teach me mathematics.”

“Oh what a horrible thought! I cannot believe you would do such a thing.”

“You surprise me! Given that you have three elder brothers.”

I gaped at him. “You played tricks on Lady Éowyn too? But you never... you would never have dared put something in her room.”

He struggled to keep his cheeks from rising still higher. “Have you never wondered lady what first inspired her to the sword?”

I burst into laughter. “Are you telling me that she had to fight off the creatures that you left for her?”

He chuckled too. “Well I wouldn't say she had to do so for very long. She punched me once, square in the face, for a single innocent spider I put on her desk and I relented after that for she split my lip and blackened one eye well enough that for weeks the other lads mocked me quite mercilessly.” He frowned. “Did your own brothers never tease you so?”

I thought back, trying to recall. “Amrothos did once lure me onto a pier by promising me some candied walnuts and then pushed me off,” I mused. “And then for a while he liked to pour ink into my blackberry cordial so my teeth would be stained for days... and then there was the time he cut off part of my hair while I was asleep... but Erchirion and Elphir I think are blameless. And that was all before our mother passed. All the fight had gone out of me I suppose, so I think it rather took the fun out of tormenting me.”

I glanced up and found his expression had changed. What I had said was really quite an intimate thing and I had said it almost without thinking. But to my relief he had none of the pity or awkwardness I might have feared in his regard. Instead he seemed almost waiting for more but afraid of startling me away, much as a man might feel with his hand outstretched to first catch hold of a wild deer that might at any moment either submit to his hand or flee. It was a startlingly tender expression.

But when I said no more he did not press the manner. “You did not, I take it, ever split his lip for his troubles.”

I laughed. “No I did not. Though perhaps I might have... if anyone had ever suggested it to me as a possibility. No one in my life ever told me that I could throw a punch I suppose.”

“No one in your life likely will, Princess of Dol Amroth. But I don't think that should deter you.”

About his own adventures he was more tight-lipped. I asked a few questions about the state of the conflict but his answers were too short and jovial to hold any truth. The stories he told in detail of what had happened were all humorous little anecdotes about life in a military camp—dogs getting into the venison or escaped horses. He did not mention any of the wounded, though a few of them had made it back to Edoras and I had tended them in their homes.

When we returned through the gate he broke off from the main party with a word to one of the other men and turned up the hill. “Oh no, my lord, you must be exhausted. You must let me walk from here.”

But he paid no heed to my words. He seemed to know where we had been settled in the city for he didn't hesitate, guiding Firefoot's clattering hooves up the steep little street where we had been stationed. He swung down at my doorstep then lifted me gently down after him.

Though I was tall for a woman, a gift from my father for my mother had been a small creature, he was more than a head taller still. I curtseyed dutifully. “Thank you for bringing me home yet again, my lord.”

He didn't respond to my formal words. Instead he hid a yawn behind one hand. “Tomorrow I think I shall start a project that I should have liked to start the day after Éowyn’s wedding.”

“What project is that, my lord?”

“Teaching you to ride.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC
> 
> Well ya’ll it’s been a hell of a week for me personally. I lost a beloved pet since the last chapter and I’d like to dedicate this chapter to him. He had a good heart and loved, was loved and will be loved until the end of time. He deserves an epic poem but this is all the creative talent I have to offer. And as always thanks eternally to Lady Bluejay for kindly editing this for me as she always deigns to do. She is the best on her own but is traveling and meeting friends these days and had help from Lialathuveril, Thanwen, and Haarajot. I am humbled (obviously) that they took the time and so extraordinarily grateful to them for doing so! XO Spake


	9. Chapter 8

I woke the next morning long before I needed to, dreading and thrilled by the idea of what was to come. Gallen came to wake me and help me dress. I selected the riding habit that Alwil had lent me many months ago and which had slowly become de facto part of my own wardrobe and put my hair up in a tight braid. Éomer was waiting for me in the little study nearest the entrance. He was dressed in dark britches and a loose tunic. He had a small supple leather saddle slung over one arm and the sight of him made my heart pound, as ever.

“Teaching me to ride?” I'd asked him the afternoon before, incredulously.

“Indeed lass. Do you not want to?”

“Yes... I mean yes of course I do. It's only... well...”

“Well what?”

I had laughed. “Does it not seem a little ridiculous to receive riding lessons at my age from the King of Rohan? One might wonder if that was truly a judicious use of your time my lord.”

“Oh I think it shall be a fine use of my time.” I had opened my mouth to protest but he'd held up a hand. “Think of it as my repayment of your kindness to fulfill my request to stay here to catalog medicinal plants if you must. Or think of it as my effort against having to chase you down on a running horse again. But either way I shall come to fetch you tomorrow morning.”

Now, in the dim morning light, he smiled at me, an expression with warmth enough to make my head spin. “Westu hal, Lothíriel.”

“Westu hal, Éomer.”

The walk through the city we took in silence, as Edoras was not yet awake. He took me to the stables at the edge of the city where there was a large open paddock. As early as it was the stables were a riot of activity, with riders saddling their mounts and coming out. Éomer led me to the last stall in the stable and un-slung the saddle onto the edge of it. “This is Evening Wind, she is a kind and even-footed mount and she'll not let you fall. First you'll need to learn to saddle her.”

I regarded the saddle dubiously. “That's not a lady's usual saddle my lord.”

“No it isn't. No one in the Mark rides side-saddle. I shall teach you to if you like once you've mastered proper riding for when you go back to Gondor. But you should learn this first.”

“How do you know how to ride side-saddle?” I asked, fighting back a laugh.

“It's an easier position to dismount from if you wish to transition from mounted to foot combat.” He shrugged. “It's a rare thing for me to practice but easily mastered if you choose to.”

Whatever I had expected from Éomer as a teacher, it was not what I got. He was extraordinarily patient to a fault as he showed me how to saddle Evening Wind, then mount. He also had the rare understanding that to truly learn something one must do it oneself so he rarely took the reins, bits, stirrups, rings, leads or straps out of my hands. It took me several tries to learn to swing myself up on the back of the horse. I was not used to such physical exertion and at first I was afraid I wouldn't be strong enough to lift my own weight. But after several tries I was able to swing up on to the little mare's back.

“Do you feel secure as you are?”

I considered. “Surprisingly so.”

“Good girl.”

I had half expected him to tire from the task of teaching me but in that too he exceeded my expectations. I did not suppose he would forget his promise entirely but I was surprised at the devotion he showed the project. That first day he only led me around the paddock by the horses bridle. The second he showed me how to use the reins so I could ride back and forth in the little enclosure. Soon he was taking us on short walks down by the Snowbourn. Alwil, Wídwine and even Amrothos soon took to taking me on long gentle rides with them as well once they knew I had the desire for it. Even Elinior joined in and managed to show real enthusiasm. For a month or more I rode almost every morning with one or more of them. Éomer himself made sure that I rode at least once every other day.

No matter how late I was out the night before or how many tasks I had left uncompleted in the solarium I would dress in my riding clothes as soon as he called and ride out with him. My body began to change under the new regimen. I had always been slender but now there was a strength in the long muscles of my thighs and arms in which I took real pride. I wasn't sure why it pleased me so much, the new little sinews of muscles on my arms and thighs but it gave real joy.

It was Alwil who first taught me how to trot.

She had accompanied me down to the river to catalog a variety of rushes that I'd noticed on previous rides. It was an unusually warm day and she lay on the bank ~~s~~ with a book while I stripped off my shoes and socks and waded into the stream to collect a representative sample, before spreading them on a warm sunny rock to carefully sketch. It was important to get the subtle differences right because I would show the sketches to Gallen or Wídwine later to get the Rohirric names for them. I came back with a headache after such lengthy, close work to find Alwil had unpacked our lunch and drunk most of the wineskin, leaving her in high good spirits.

I joined her on the blanket and took a sip of the wine. For a while we simply lay together, sharing the wine and enjoying the blue sky above us.

“Wídwine says your Rohirric is progressing nicely. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, you were never one to struggle with a task such as that. And now you seem to be mastering even riding quite easily. I suppose I shouldn't begrudge you your successes now that we are friends... but you do make it hard not to be jealous, Lothíriel.”

I laughed. “How could you be jealous of me?” The thought was utterly ridiculous.

“Why should I not be jealous?” She sat up to look down at me. “You're kind and accomplished and as smart as can be. Soon you won't even need me for translation or to help you get by in Edoras you're adapting so quickly. Now that you can ride I cannot even tell myself you depend on me for that. And you would be fine to look upon if you managed your hair better and dressed yourself properly.”

I was ridiculously pleased with the compliment, truth be told, but still the thought of Alwil envying me was too much to fathom. Perhaps I had changed some since coming to Rohan but in the eyes of anyone from the court of Gondor I would have remained the same marriageable, shy little mouse I had always been.

“Well no need to fear I shall make progress there. I haven't got a clue how to buy a proper dress or style my hair. And as for riding, I am barely better than most children of ten or so. I cannot even yet sit a trot.”

Alwil frowned. “Well both of those are easily fixed. Should you like to learn to trot and buy a dress?”

My instinct was to deny the truth. Close as we had become some part of me still suspected that Alwil would laugh at me at any moment if I revealed too much of myself. She was perhaps not the bully she had once been but still there was something about her that remained the harsh, beautiful and intimidating woman of the court. I was ashamed to admit that, though she had proved her friendship in any number of small or large ways over the month, I feared she did not understand whom she had chosen as her companion.

If ever I were to open myself fully to her, how could she not mock me? As long as I pretended that I was not interested in dresses and hairstyles, ribbons and sweet smelling oils I could maintain the illusion that the way I dressed and comported myself was intentional. The fantasy that I was immune and aloof from the usual pastimes of women of my station was at least less pathetic than the truth: that I simply had no idea how to replicate them.

To be indifferent to the usual desires of being beautiful and admired is in some way admirable, protective, or at least I had thought and hoped it to be so. If the women of the court believed that I was not hurt or ashamed by my unfashionable dresses and drab looks at least it appeared to be within my control, something I could change if I wanted...something that would be uninteresting to mock me for. But to pine for something one cannot have was a thing ripe with the potential for humiliation.

Besides... what would Amrothos say if I bought a new dress? Would Éomer notice? The impulse to stay where I was, plain and overlooked was overwhelming. There was a certain kind of mouse that lived in the pebbly marshes a little inland from the sea in Dol Almroth. It had a certain kind of dappled fur that made it almost impossible to see when it was still against its habitat. I had once seen one of the castle cats, a fierce, great tawny monster, walk right by one, no more than a whisker's breath away. If it had run the cat surely would have noticed and caught it but so invisible was it where it stood that it was safe. What if I were like that mouse? Safe enough as long as I was still. To shift something might improve my situation but it might just as well send me tumbling down into more difficulties, and ones I was ill prepared to handle.

But a larger part of me so desperately wanted what she was offering. “Yes I should.”

“Alright then. Today we shall trot, tomorrow I will take you to buy a dress.”

Alwil's mechanism for teaching me to trot was rather straightforward. She explained the overall mechanics of the movement, showed me a few times and then lashed my reigns to her pommel. At the same pace and freed of my responsibility to steer I was able to concentrate on meeting the strange, rocking motion of the increased pace.

“It's rather physical work isn't it?” I remarked when hot and sweaty we finally let the horses rest and crop grass while we stripped off our shoes and waded back into the stream to cool off.

“I should say so. It will make your thighs quite sore tomorrow I should imagine if you've never done it before. You'll get used to it however.”

Her strategy toward instructing me on dress buying was overall a similar approach. She took me to Gallen's mother who it turned out she had been using for many months for her own dresses. She dandled the baby I had delivered, now a fine healthy lad of nearly five months on her lap as I was measured, chatting away with his mother and grandmother about the new season of fashion and the styles she had heard about from her correspondents in Gondor. Her mother had sent her several patterns, which she shared with the two women as well. We went next to a clothier, who besides the cloth woven in Edoras, had been astute enough to buy some finer fabrics from Gondor. Alwil held pieces of cloth up to me to decide what would suit. She allowed me to try the same, steering me away from the drab colors that I defaulted too and eventually encouraging me to first choose a dark rose color that I had immediately been drawn too but too shy to select. And then a pretty shade of green.

To my surprise I found that I quite loved the dresses once they were made. In contrast to those I'd bought for Éowyn's wedding (which still lay at the bottom of a trunk, hopelessly wrinkled) the clothes I had picked out with Alwil seemed to suit me in some way. Both were day dresses, versatile enough for most occasions, and I found them enormously comfortable. They were slightly more constricting than the bodice-less, childish dresses I was used to but despite that I felt somehow freer in them. I loved the way the fabric pressed tight to my skin, reminding both me and the world that I was not a sexless child but a woman. I derived such joy that I went back to the same clothier almost at once and then to Gallen's mother to order several more as well as a riding dress and habit.

The mockery I had expected from Amrothos was not forthcoming. In fact, I'm not entirely sure he even noticed the change. The first day I wore one of my new dresses down to breakfast I was almost shaking as I came into the small kitchen where we took our morning break-fast together. But all he said was, “You look well this morning, Lothíriel. Are you ready for our ride this morning?”

Éomer at least seemed to mark the change in my wardrobe. Or was it merely wishful thinking that I believed that he stopped short when he had first seen me? He had seen me before in current styles but the new dresses had a different effect on me, why could they not on him? These were my dresses, I had chosen them and they were tailored to my form—not borrowed from Alwil or an Erolingas girl who happened to be near my size, but specifically chosen for me. It was not impossible to hope that he had noticed my womanly form. But even the thought that he had was nothing like comfort. It was agony to think he might find the dresses ridiculous on me, or me ridiculous for having spent my time choosing them.

What might he think of the dowdy younger sister of Amrothos now suddenly trying to be a fashionable lady of the court? I scrutinized his behavior at length for the signs of withdrawal of a man trying to let a woman with hopes down easily but found no evidence. Indeed the kindness and interest he took in me only continued to surprise me.

Despite the fact that I was becoming a more and more proficient rider he still came to ride with me several times a week. We were almost always accompanied, by Amrothos if not by others, but it did not escape my notice that he occasionally held up the start of the ride so that I could return from tending to an invalid or would come find me in the solarium even if Amrothos or the others were anxious to ride out without me.

One particularly late morning I had to sprint from the bed of a laboring patient to the stables and they were all waiting for me. They had saddled Evening Wind and the horses were all ready to go with the people milling about around them, everyone anxiously shifting weight and ready to be out in the sun. Alwil had leapt to her feet from where she had been lounging on a bale of hay. “Thank goodness you're here, Lothi. Éomer will finally let us get out on the road. I'm dying for a ride and you’re horribly late,” she had complained. “Now come, there's a good girl, get into the saddle at once.”

She'd come over to boostme up as if I were still learning to ride, trying to hurry me onto the horse as soon as possible but really causing more delay as we both began to laugh too hard as she tried and failed to help me up. “You should have left without me!” I protested. “I could have been another hour or more if the lady in question hadn't been so particularly eager to get the process over with and on her fifth child.”

She had rolled her eyes, swinging up into her own saddle. “Well we shall all write the blessed mother a very nice note of thanks then in the afternoon for I'm sure _someone_ would have insisted we wait for you.”

“Lothíriel can be as late as she likes with such an excuse. We would have waited for her until dusk if we needed to.”

Alwil bowed elaborately from the saddle. “In these lands your word is law, King Éomer. Now can we please get on the damn road!”

The summer rains continued, much to Éomer's satisfaction. There was a strange tension in him that I began to sense as the weather continued to be nearly perfect for growing crops. The Ring War had been hard on Gondor but Rohan had been nearly decimated. Caught between Sarumon and Sauron and with the poisoning of Théoden's mind, the lands and people had suffered greatly. But if Rohan were to have a good crop this year it would speed things considerably down the road to recovery. He worked in a frenzy in concert with King Elessar to turn the Dimholt path into an established line of trading with Gondor so that the people of Rohan might have an easier way to sell or buy goods across the border. He didn't speak the urgent hope that I could see written on his brow but it was clear in every line of his face when others spoke of gentle rains, plenty of sunshine and a good harvest.

Hope is such an ephemeral thing and after so many years without it, in the dark days of living under the rule of Wormtongue, I could imagine that he was reluctant to let it back into his heart lest it flee again. There could still be things that went wrong even as the wheat fields sprouted up higher and higher there was just more that could be lost if war were to break out again or if some twist of fate brought some plague of insects.

He rode out often to survey various villages near and far, to ensure that none were failing for lack of support from the capital. He took Amrothos on many rides out with him and the two of them often came back dirty, tired but entirely satisfied with their ride. We dinned often with Fraca and Alwil as well and overall my impression of that summer remains one full of crisp, fresh elderberry wine, warm, caressing summer nights and the tinkling sound of Alwil’s unrestrained laughter.

But other, less pleasant things occupied our attention that summer as well.

There were continued fighting on the western border that escalated as the summer wore on. This close to the harvest the stores from the last were running thin and the Wild Men were becoming more aggressive, particularly in light of what promised to be a rich harvest to plunder. Éomer was eager not to let the Wild Men reorganize under another strong leader as they done with Sarumen and so met any transgression across the border with full force. Talk began to spread through Edoras that Éomer was planning definitive action in a large campaign against the Dunlendings. The war machine of Rohan began to turn its wheels in serious motion: with a call for men going out for a large force be raised.

The smiths began to work with real motivation as well, banging the dents out of armor the sharpening swords, shoeing horses and fixing chain mail. The stables turned their attention to outfitting the horses for war, making sure all shoes were new and that there were no potentially fatal flaws in any armor or equipment. The butchers began to cure meat for the campaign and the bakers turned their attention to flat, simple loafs that would last many weeks if not exposed to damp. Seamstresses were kept up late sowing banners and emblems. Even I felt soon as if I never rested for the fatigued workers were more likely than ever to cut a hand or strike a thumb with a tool.

Amrothos immediately wrote a letter to our father to beg permission to accompany Éomer to the border to aid in the fighting.

“And what of your sister? You intend to leave her alone in Edoras with no chaperone?” Éomer argued back one evening. Amrothos and he had gone hunting for a few days in a cabin Éomer kept in the mountains and they had returned just that morning with several fine specimens, including a handsome pair of ducks that Amrothos had invited him to enjoy with us.

Unfortunately a letter had arrived for Amrothos in the meantime from our father that stated he did not oppose Amrothos if he wished to join the fighting and agreeing that Éomer and Rohan could not be held responsible if he were slain. His answer had surprised no one, but still Éomer was reluctant to let Amrothos risk himself. The conflict was between Rohan and the Dunlendings and Gondor had no true part in it. If he were slain in that battle the debt Éomer would feel toward my father would be enormous, no matter what my father or family might feel about it.

Amrothos's brow creased in puzzlement. “What of her? She has Gallen doesn't she? Why does she need chaperoning?”

Both men turned to consider me. The conversation had turned too quickly from excluding me entirely to focusing on me that I still had a forkful of duck paused on the way to my mouth. I returned the morsel to my plate and tried not to blush under their scrutiny.

I cleared my throat. “I'm sure that I could...”

“You cannot leave a maid twenty-one summers in a city alone and so far from any of her family or anyone else who can vouch for or protect her reputation.” Éomer said definitively.

Amrothos sighed. “I hardly have her under lock and key here, Éomer. Half my mornings I have to ask Gallen which one of her expectant mothers or sickly old men she's gone off to tend to in the middle of the night.”

Éomer's expression seemed to suggest that he did not think that this was entirely appropriate but could not quite bring himself to presume to tell Amrothos how to manage his own sister. He pressed his lips together. “Nevertheless if word were to get back to Gondor that Lothíriel had been left alone in the city without proper overseeing it could suggest a scandal.”

“What scandal? What could she possibly be getting up to? And who would possibly be inquiring about her whereabouts in the first place?”

I felt that it didn't need to be emphasized quite so much by Amrothos how little he suspected me of being capable of intrigue or being romanced. And I was eager to stop him from repeating again how little interest the other courtly ladies took of me or my doings. “I can stay with Alwil,” I said firmly. “She and Wídwine can vouch for my reputation if it comes to that.”

I hoped Alwil wouldn't mind but Fraca would doubtless be riding out as well with them and she always complained that she was lonely without him. Perhaps she would even be glad of my company in his absence.

“Yes! Of course she can stay with Alwil! What a perfect solution!” Amrothos burst out. “Very clever, Lothi, well done.”

Éomer's expression was unreadable as he considered the two of us, Amrothos looking eager and me carefully avoiding his eyes. “Very well,” he said finally.

After dinner he and Amrothos took out maps of Rohan in the parlor to look at strategy for the coming battle while I read by the fire. When Amrothos stepped out to fetch a reference on tactics on enemy soil (and to get a particular bottle of brandy he wanted Éomer to taste), Éomer came to stand by the fire with me. Having not been really reading anyway, but listening to their conversation and trying not to imagine the two of them in danger, I looked up.

He was looking directly at me. “I will bring him back to you, Lothíriel.” A shiver ran down my spine. Another vow from the King of Rohan.

“Amrothos made it through Pelennor. I'm sure he'll get through a scrape with the Dunlendings. He is a very good fighter after all.” The casual tone of my voice sounded forced even to my own ears.

“A good fighter perhaps but truly a worthless chaperone. Still, I shall make sure he gets back in one piece to his post as your guard.” Now the corners of his mouth turned down, brow becoming furrowed. “Though I like less than I can say the idea of you walking alone at night, Lothíriel.”

“Amrothos is only exaggerating, it isn't as if there is a crisis every night, most of my work brings me back at a reasonable hour.”

“Why do you not simply wake your brother up to escort you?”

I laughed. “You clearly have never tried to wake Amrothos up at any time of the day, much less if he's been out to the tavern and the effect of the mead is still at play.”

“If you were my... that is to say someone should be taking more care with your safety.”

I shifted uncomfortably, knowing I had a slim chance of success but feeling compelled to try anyway. If I didn't even ask and Amrothos was to be hurt I would never forgive myself. “There is another alternative.” I began. “Rather than me staying with Alwil.”

“What is that?”

“I could go with you. With Amrothos I mean. I am a healer after all and I'm sure that I could be useful to you... I wouldn't be too much of a burden now that I know how to ride...” I began to babble as soon as the suggestion was out of my mouth.

His jaw tightened and I trailed off, knowing his answer. “Lothíriel I would not risk you in that way for anything.”

“I wouldn't necessarily have to be too close to the fighting, just close enough for the wounded to be brought to me.”

He shook his head. “Put it out of your head, lass.”

I swallowed around a lump in my throat. “It's only... if something were to happen and I could have saved him had I been there...” Truth be told it was not only Amrothos of whom I spoke. The living, breathing man in front of me I wanted to clutch to my breast like a precious jewel. The thought of him wounded felt as if a cutting wire was wrapped around my breast, too tight for me to draw breath.

He crossed from the fire and knelt beside the couch I was sitting on. He took one white-knuckled hand from the corner of the book and pressed a courtly kiss to my fingers. “You do your house honor by your offer, my lady, but I cannot accept.” He didn't let go of my fingers. “I will always rescue you, Lothíriel.” He gave me a small smile. “Even if it means rescuing your mutton-headed brother.”

But who would be there to rescue him if he needed it?

I opened my mouth, to say what I don't know for as I did the door opened and Amrothos came back in. Éomer stood immediately and took a step back from me. “Here's the blasted brandy I was looking for! I swear the cook is hiding it from me!” Amrothos said by way of greeting, having apparently taken no notice of finding an unmarried and unrelated male almost kneeling before his sister. “Come have a sip of it with us won't you, Lothi! It's damned good. And then we can have a look at what they say about scouting in enemy territory.”

I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. “As I said my lord, he is a very good fighter.”

Éomer shook his head but he was smiling too. “I hardly know which of you I need to write to Imrahil about.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. In particular I appreciate your kind words about the loss of my pet. I'm obviously still mourning him but it gets better every day. I appreciate your kind words and was so sorry to hear that some of you experienced similar losses. My heart truly goes out to me. And a special thanks to Lady Bluejay for this chapter. She always does a great job but I think I made her laugh a little bit with some of the mistakes I made with Tolkien's precious world this chapter. I thank her for both her wisdom and patience. Please please please tell me what you think of this chapter. What do you think will come next? What do you want to come next? What do you think of how Lothíriel is changing? XO Spake


	10. Chapter 10

The morning the men were due to ride out I woke far before dawn, lying quietly as grey stole through the windows. Eventually I heard Amrothos come back, after having disappeared after dinner the night before. I hadn't needed to ask where he was going. I heard him come up the stairs and begin to move about in the bedchamber down the hall, which prompted me to leave my bed. I splashed cold water on my face as I hadn't asked Gallen to rise early but she came in a few moments later to help me on with my dress and fix my hair in a simple braid. She'd brought me two slabs of bread smeared with duck fat and well salted and wrapped in a cloth as well as a few boiled brown eggs. She tucked these into a satchel for me to take down to the stables. The two of us waited by the door in silence as the sounds of Amrothos getting into his armour floated down. By the sounds of it my brother was in a fine mood, laughing with the kitchen boy who was struggling to help him figure out his chain male.

“Oh hello, Lothi! You've come to see me off then! What a fine girl you are.” He greeted me with a fond kiss on my brow. Clearly whatever had transpired at Lady Elinior's home had probably been more refreshing than a night’s sleep and all that he needed to lift his spirits before he rode out. “And you've brought breakfast! Excellent.”

He took the bread I offered him and took a bite. He bent and swung his saddlebags over one shoulder and then he was out the door. We walked down to the stables, each enjoying the cool dawn light and the good brown bread. I let him have both the boiled eggs, as he had always loved them since he was a child, shelling them for him as we went and then handing them over when I was finished.

The stables were a riot of movement with men and horses flowing in an out at an incredible rate. The sounds of it were almost overwhelming. Though I had come far with Rohirric I felt I almost couldn't understand any of it that morning as it flew around me in a whirlwind of sound. Either the cacophony of voices or the tension of the morning made me feel sluggish and stupid. I followed in Amrothos's wake as he cut through the torrent of people to where his own charger was stabled. He threw the saddlebags over the gate and turned his attention to his tack.

I slipped my hand into the satchel and brought out the other thing I had carried with me. I had searched for the perfect juniper plant for hours the day before until I felt I'd found the right tree. The little bough that I'd cut for Amrothos I slipped into the bottom of his saddlebags with a little whispered prayer to the fates to keep him safe.

Then I hesitated. In the satchel I could feel the other bough and I fingered it nervously. Amrothos was paying no attention to me however, focused on making sure that every bit of dust was brushed from his mounts back and whispering soothing words of encouragement into its ear.

I turned and walked down the row of horses until I found the familiar stall. To my relief the box held only one occupant and he was already kitted out in all his armour. “Westu hal, Firefoot,” I said with a smile.

Truth be told I was still a little afraid of Éomer's horse. The old warrior was not from my world. Here was a horse that had been trained from a colt to run down anything and everything that Éomer deemed necessary without hesitation. My own fleet little mare with her gentle good manners and affectionate nips and butting head hardly seemed the same species. I held out my hand palm up, showing him the half carrot I had brought him—a token more than a real treat as he would have to run for many hours that day and didn't need to be full of sweets. He took it though with a little nicker of acknowledgment that I could enter.

I opened the door and slipped in, gave him a few pats on the neck and words of encouragement and then slipped my hand into the satchel and opened Éomer's saddlebags.

“Another juniper branch? What have I done to earn such favor?”   
I whirled so quickly at his voice that I would have fallen had Éomer not been quick enough to catch me by the upper arm, steadying me on my feet. “Easy lass, I didn't mean to startle you.”

I blushed. “No, my lord, of course not. It's only... I know I should have asked permission before I came in here.”

“I think Firefoot is old enough to take care of himself.”

He looked like he hadn't slept well the night before. His beard was freshly trimmed and not a hair out of place but the hint of dark circles under his eyes gave him away. Despite that he seemed to radiate a palpable, tense energy that was a confusing mix of contradictory emotions: joy and eagerness next to fear and dread. I knew him well enough to be sure that he would be afraid, for his men if not for himself. And yet that was clearly far from the most fervent emotion he felt. Like Amrothos he was strangely hungry for the battle to come, yearning for the pleasure of using the skills they worked so hard to acquire and maintain. He always carried a sword at his hip and the warrior was ready to unsheathe it.

“I should have asked you if it was alright to come in here.”

“There is nowhere in Rohan you are unwelcome, Lothíriel.” He glanced down at the branch I still held in my hand. “But since I've found you here, you didn't answer my question. What have I done to earn such favor?”

I couldn't meet his eyes. “It's only a superstition in Dol Almroth. It's meant to keep warriors safe in battle.” Traditionally it was given only to men who were family or lovers but there was no need to mention that.

The exact story of how the tradition came about was that one of the first Princesses of Dol Almroth had given her husband a branch on the day he set sail for a great battle of the last age. She had made him promise to return before the berries fell from the branch and kept half for herself. He had of course been much diverted on his way back and had taken more than five years to return. But this was back when the elven blood was still strong in the house and she had woven a spell to keep the berries from falling, thus keeping their hope alive. When her husband had returned he had given her back the branch with the berries intact.

I glanced up at him and found his expression was unreadable. He seemed to be looking at me as though he wanted to memorize every feature, scrutinizing my face with an intensity that made me blush and look down again. Finally he said. “The last time you gave me a juniper branch you told me I could take anything that I liked.” His voice was lower than usual, perfectly audible but deeper. “Is that still the case?”

“My lord I...”

“Éomer!” A shout from the door of the stall almost seemed to have broken a spell. The sounds of the stable, which had faded from my consciousness almost from the moment he had taken my arm to keep me from falling rushed back in. Time, which had seemed to slow, resumed her normal pace. “My lord there is a problem with the supply wagons and Lord Carwegion will not allow us to fill them until you've seen for yourself.”

Éomer let go of my arm and passed a hand over his face as if to brush something off. Then he fixed me with a smile that was enough to make my heart lurch and held out his hand. “My branch then please, my lady.”

I put it in his hand and he caught my fingers for a kiss. “May the Valar watch over you and return you to our shores,” I told him in Sindarin, uttering the traditional words of parting before a battle in Dol Almroth.

“Westu hal, Lothiriel.”

When he had gone I waited for my hands to stop trembling before I went back out of the stall. I found Alwil, who was leaning against the outside of Fraca's stall, head tilted back and eyes skyward. Did I imagine that her eyes were shinning slightly as I approached? When she spotted me though she smiled and then shook her head ruefully. “And here I thought you would be too sensible to come down here only to be ignored. Wídwine had the right idea sleeping in.” She jerked her head towards the stall. “She said that you can shout your goodbyes at them all you want but they’re too focused on what they're doing to hear you so she made her parting remarks to him last night”

She sank down on the bale of hay at her feet and I joined her. “I suppose it's nice to think that they at least have enough sense to prepare properly and check over and over that they have.”

She nodded. “That's true enough.” Instinctively I reached for her hand and was surprised when she squeezed back tightly. “I'm glad you'll be staying with us for a few weeks, Lothíriel.”

“It's kind of you to say that. I'd hate to think I was imposing.”

“It's the one good thing about them all riding off I suppose.”

“The one good thing.” I agreed.

It wasn't true however that Fraca had no attention to spare for her that morning though. When the horn began to blow and it was time for him to get in his saddle he kissed her with such passion that I had to look away. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he pulled her to the length of him. He caught her head and whispered something that I couldn't make out but that made her catch him up in another passionate kiss. When they broke apart, in the end her having to urge him to get up on his horse lest he be late, he reached down to catch a hand and bring it to his lips for another kiss. “Go you idiot!” She laughed. “They're already riding out without you.”

Amrothos, who was waiting for him looked down at me, kissed his fingers and pressed them to my forehead. “Don't bother Alwil too much while I'm gone, Lothi and if you're very good I will bring you a present from the Westfold of some kind.”

“A silk scarf,” Alwil informed him. “Fraca will show you where to find the best ones.”

“Only if you're good!” he reminded me.

“May the Valar watch over you and return you to our shores.”

Alwil linked her arm in mine and I was pleased to see that she was smiling so hard that her dimples were showing, a rare sign of a good mood. The kiss had clearly done much in the way of cheering her up. “Come, Lothi, let's run to the top of the wall. We can watch them ride out over the plain if we're quick.”

We ran out after them as the column of horses began to flow in earnest towards the gates. I couldn't see Éomer as he was so far to the front but I could hear his horn blowing, a clear precious sound that made my spirit leap forward. After months of riding and physical exertion I could keep pace with Alwil as she ran full out for the walls of the city, dodging through back alleys and side streets to make the distance shorter. The city around us was still asleep so the streets were clear of people to get in our way or witness our mad dash. She led us through a covered market, leaping over a pile of spilled apples at the end of one row and barely slowing down. Our skirts flew out behind us and we would have been laughing if we'd had the breath.

We reached the stone steps that led up to the city wall and took them two at a time to the top. Alwil bent over the parapet, panting. “I thought I was going to loose a shoe a few streets back!” she burst out.

I leaned against the cool stone and pressed my temple to it. Beneath us the column of riders poured out of the city like water from a tap. In the front I could see Éomer riding beneath the banner of Rohan. His hair flying back in the wind, he raised his horn to his lips and again the clear silvery peal cut the still morning air. _Valar keep him safe_. How could it be that he was to risk his life again? How could I let it happen? That morning in the stables I could have thrown myself at his feet and begged him not to go and I hadn't. I found Amrothos's head in the crowd, a dot of black in a field of wheat.

We watched until they disappeared in the sea of grass and then walked back arm in arm through the waking city. Wídwine was waiting for us in the parlor with a pot of tea and scones with butter. “Come on, ladies, eat up as I intend for there to be no moping around indoors this fine day. We've been invited to a party this evening by Lady Elinior and I intend for us to accomplish quite a bit before we can come home to start fixing our hair.”

 

 

 

 

The campaign against the Wild Men lasted only thirty-seven days and to my surprise they seemed to pass quickly. Wídwine clearly intended to keep the two of us too busy to ruminate. She was tireless in her organization of activities for us and to my surprise it opened an entirely new avenue of research for me. She had clearly made the project that had brought me to Rohan widely known and the circle of ladies she introduced me to were more than happy to tell me all they knew of medicinal plants and where to find them. Often on a picnic a lady might find me particularly to show me a morel she'd found in a meadow nearby or the little stream where her grandmother always swore she could find particular rushes. They were a robust source of knowledge of local names as well and many of them came to visit me in the solarium to help me identify what I had already collected.

When I found something new that was difficult to identify I took to slipping a sample into my pocket to take to the next invitation we received. The vial or pressed specimen would be passed lady to lady until someone recognized it and came to find me to tell me what it was.

Sketching plants and preserving them was, after all, a reputable form of entertainment for a young lady and if the other women found it odd that my plants were more likely to be twisted ugly roots or stinging nettles they never mentioned it to me. Many an afternoon found a sowing circle congregating in my solarium to keep me company as I worked. One or two girls might break off to help me stir or to borrow my plant press to make a token for her swain. Gallen finally had to bring up chairs from the parlor and Wídwine helped us order more as it became more common for me to host a gathering in the solarium.

The day that Amorthos returned we had devolved into a giggling game of Blind Man's Bluff in the garden. I was dashing up the stairs to the house to escape Alwil, who was the Blind Man and so good at it I half suspected her of cheating somehow, intending to leap down over the railing back to the garden if I needed to when my brother came out the door. We collided hard enough to knock the wind out of me and for Alwil to seize my arm. “Lothiriel! I've got Lothiriel. No need to deny it I know the sound of you laughing as you run,” she shouted in triumph, tearing off her blindfold. “Amrothos! You're back! Where's Fraca?”

Amrothos swept me up in a hug, crushing the breath out of me for the second time in as many minutes. “Lothíriel you're a sight for sore eyes! Let me look at you, sister! Not too worse for wear?”

“Shouldn't I be asking you that question?” I said with a smile. “Not hurt are you, brother?”

“Not so much as a scratch,” he said holding out his arms to show me they were free of bandages. “And Fraca has gone to look for you, Alwil! He's fine as well of course. We're both far too handsome to die so young. It would be a tragedy the fates wouldn't allow!”

“He's here in the city?”

“Arrived with me just now!”

She dashed up the stairs and into the house, shouting behind her as she went. “Westu hal, Lothi! Westu hal, Lord Amrothos. Well met and blessed are the fates that you are safely returned to us!”

I gasped. “Oh, Amrothos but I haven't prepared anything for you! There's only some cold chicken and not even anything more than that nasty ale you like so much! Why did you not send word that you were coming so I could have had a bath ready and something to welcome you properly?”

“Oh don't worry. Gallen saw me on the way in and dashed off without even a 'westu hal, my lord' so I'm sure the bath will be arranging itself. As for the food a bit of cold chicken and ale would be most welcome at the moment to be perfectly frank!

The other women were gathering at the base of the stairs. “Are the men back? We hadn't heard news that they were coming.” One asked Amrothos.

He shook his head. “The main body of the campaign will arrive in a day or two. Éomer asked for volunteers to ride ahead through the night to bring news that we would be arriving back.”

There were murmurs of excitement and the women began to come up the stairs. If the men were to return in only a short time, then we would need to turn our attentions to the feast that would inevitably follow. Many paused on the step to ask Amrothos about a specific man if he had news of them. Thankfully the fighting seemed to mostly have gone favorably and only one woman was told that her husband had suffered a wound but not a mortal one.

Alwil already had her boots on when I arrived at the door to say goodbye to my guests. She kissed my cheek once, impatient to get out the door to see Fraca. “Of course you two must dine with us this afternoon, this evening as well to give your cook a chance to go shopping. Then we can start arranging for the feast in a few days.”

I kissed her back. “Westu hal then for now, Alwil.”

I turned back toward the house and through the backdoor caught sight of my brother and Elinior. The other ladies had gone from our little back garden and they were alone. They were not exactly kissing but he held her to him without any pretence of formality, one arm around her waist, the other cupping her cheek tenderly. Her forehead was pressed to his and there were slow tears rolling down her cheeks, her face twisted in a mask of pain and relief in almost equal measure. Neither seemed to be saying much but he held her head with one hand, stroking away the tears as they fell. His mouth moved, whispering something that made her smile, then choke out a little hiccuping laugh.

I retreated back up the stairs as quietly as I could.

Gallen had indeed already arranged a bath for Amrothos so I turned my attention to seeing that his kit was properly looked after and cleaned while he soaked. I went down to find his favorite brandy and have a bottle sent to wait for us at Alwil's residence. By the time I had done all that my brother was dressed again and in the parlor. Elinior had disappeared as well. “Come, Lothi, put on your boots and lets walk to Alwil's house. I'm famished!”

“I thought you said you wanted cold chicken.” I teased.

“I've already had some! But whatever Wídwine has cooked I'll have some of that as well!” he said with an impish grin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next day the whole of Edoras seemed to wake early to start preparations for the return. Amrothos had volunteered to help with the hunting and left before dawn with Fraca despite the two of them having drunk a rather heroic portion of the bottle of brandy the night before. Alwil and I narrowly escaped being pressed into flower collecting duty by Alwil pointing out that we would be needed instead to help ready the houses of healing for any of the wounded. Despite having volunteered us for this potentially quite bloody task she still insisted that we wear the traditional white to welcome them back.

“It's a shame. I had rather liked this dress as well,” I told her as I regarded myself in the mirror.

“Then put on an apron and try not to get too much blood on it,” she said. “But to be safe I shall ask Wídwine where she got the fabric so you can get another one made.”

News had travelled through the city that only a handful of men had been slain in the fighting and that the damage done to the Wild Men had been definitive and the mood in Edoras was of joyous celebration. Tavern doors were open and children were playing in the streets. Every bakery and butcher were running at full capacity to make the welcome feast spectacular. It was a little after noon when we heard the Horn of the North first blow and the city stilled for a moment, all ears straining to hear the dying notes of it. I held my breath, waiting for another blow and a shiver went up my spine as the sound split the air again. He didn't sound hurt. Those pure and unconquerable sounds could not have come from the lungs of a man who had suffered grievous injury.

“Let's walk to the main street then. If we delay we shan't be able to get close enough to see the welcome cup of mead,” Alwil suggested.

“Should we not stay here to wait for the wounded?”

“You'll be able to see the wounded better from the side of the street, Lothíriel. Besides those who were critically ill would have been left closer to the border to convalesce before being transported back.”

A twinge of guilt at the thought that I might have been able to help those men twisted in my guts like a knife. But I let Alwil pull me out and up the street. In the end we were able to get a good spot near the steps of Meduseld. A friend of Alwil's waved to us and generously let us pass to stand in front of her right at the first stair.

The city seemed to shake as the men arrived; the clatter of horses up the cobblestones was loud enough almost to be heard over the thunderous cheering. Éomer was carried forth on a wave of the soldiers behind him. His helm was still on his head but he took it off and held it high as the city around him exploded with joy to have him returned safely. My heart lurched to see him sitting in the saddle uninjured. There was no sign that he had been hurt.

He swung down off Firefoot and took the steps up to Meduseld as if he hadn't been riding hard for many days, striding forth with an abundance of energy. His housekeeper stood at the threshold of the Hall, the traditional two handed chalice offered forward with shaking hands. Someday Rohan would have a queen and it would be her duty to offer Éomer the ceremonial mead to welcome him home. Would he do as Fraca had done when Alwil offered him his the night before, clasping one hand over her arm and jerking her forward into a passionate kiss once the cup had been drained? Would he look at her with the same naked hunger that Fraca sometimes let show to others when he first saw Alwil? Valar but I wanted to be the woman standing at Éomer's threshold, offering forth a chalice and any pleasure he could take from me.

It didn't seem right that when so many in Edoras were welcomed to warm beds that night the King would have no such succor. Or was I naive to think that Éomer would be alone that night? Amrothos had walked me home after we had finished dinner with Fraca and Alwil the night before but he had simply kissed my hand at the door and then turned without explanation back down the street. He hadn't needed to explain where he was going and when I had breakfasted alone it had come as no surprise. Éomer would surely have no trouble finding any number of women eager to give him comfort on any night, more still having returned victorious from battle.

Fraca and Amrothos had returned with a strange frenzy from the battlefield, born no doubt of a brush with death they needed to feel the comfort of another body beside them in bed. Needed to feel the warmth of feminine touch to remind them that they had survived and vanquished their enemies. What would Éomer do with that vitality? Who would he gift it to?

He drained the cup and handed it back. He turned to face the crowd and blew again the Horn of the North. “Erolingas! We have returned!” The explosion of noise was enough to deafen me for a few moments and only later did I realize that I too had shouted back, adding my own voice to the bellowing noise.

As Alwil had predicted the houses of healing were relatively deserted that afternoon. A few men came in to have a wound examined or tended. I took the opportunity to hear a little bit about the campaign as I worked. “Your brother fights like a daemon, lady.” One man told me, tipping his head to me respectfully as I sowed a wound on his forearm. “Your father must be proud.”

“I will tell him you said so the next time I see him.”

“He was never far from the thickest fighting but came out without a scratch.” Another agreed.

“He and Éomer King were two blades of death they were. Always less than a swords distance from each other and cutting a path straight through the enemy’s heart. On the worst day of it the two of them pushed back up a slope the likes of which you'd never imagine, lady.” I may have given the man a bit more of the milk of the poppy than I had intended too as he didn't notice the little shiver that went up my spine, nor the slight trembling of my hands I had to work to master.

His friend was still a little lucid though. “Oh, Glírher, stop spinning tales that will only keep the lady up at night worrying for her brother. Besides if you break her focus she won't pull those stitches right and you'll be even uglier than you are now if that's possible.”

Glírher blushed. “Sorry, Lady Lothíriel, I meant no offense.”

“Not at all. I'm proud to hear that my brother did well.”

It didn't surprise me that Éomer had kept his vow to watch over Amrothos. Even without promising it to me I was sure that he would have felt an obligation to my father to keep his son safe. But still, it made me shiver to think that he might have been distracted by it. A king had no business going into battle with more than a single-minded dedication to victory in mind. A king without an heir no less.

That night the candles in Medseld seemed to burn with unusual warmth. I had managed to get quite a bit of blood on my white frock, despite Alwil's instruction and instead had donned a light green gown with roses embroidered around the edges. Despite its lightness I felt the heat of the hall particularly. Amrothos and I sat at the main table, facing the hall. It was a blessing as Éomer was at least out of my line of sight and I didn't have to struggle not to stare at him. Otherwise it would have been impossible not to do so, to remind myself that he was whole and hale.

When the feast was over and hall was cleared to make way for a dance Éomer came to partner me. “My lady, a dance?”

I nodded. “With real pleasure, my lord.” For once a genuine response from my lips.

He led me out onto the floor and I was surprised to find that he was smiling radiantly. “Bema but I've missed you,Lothíriel.”

His fingers touched mine and I was surprised at how I shivered. He was alive and well and the proof was here, solid as anything. A strong arm went around my waist and we whirled out on to the floor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC
> 
> So sorry about the hiatus! Life and work have both been a tumult but worry not, I intend to finish this story come hell or high water. Please let me know what you think—of what has happened so far and what you hope will happen next! Let me know what you think about Lothi and Eomer and Alwil and Ivrineil! I love hearing other people's interpretations, it always teaches me something new about “my characters.” As always, enormous thanks to Lady Bluejay for beta reading this story and everyone who reviewed! Please be sure that if you left me a review, it brightened my day enormously. XO Spake


	11. Chapter 10

It was only a few weeks after the return from the campaign that Éomer invited Amrothos and I to go with him on a hunting expedition for a few days with an old friend. I was amused that the offer had been made to both of us and not just Amrothos, with me invited along as an afterthought because no one wanted to bother Alwil to keep an eye on me again.

It was one of the last truly warm days of summer. We took a winding path out of Edoras and up into the mountains toward Dunharrow. It was a challenging ride for me and both I and the horses were sweating by the time we reached the summit and paused to rest. High in the mountains there was a jaw-dropping view of the plains but also a place where one of the small streams that fed the wells in Edoras widened into a pool. It was an idyllic little place, set far enough back in the mountains to be protected from the wind but still affording an incredible view of the city below. We dismounted and Éomer and Amrothos led the horses to a small stand of grass and began to take off the tack and brush off the sweat.

“We might as well take our lunch here. It's a pretty enough view and it will be more pleasant to arrive at Etan's not so sweaty,” Éomer proposed. Amrothos and I nodded our agreement.

My own eye was naturally drawn to some small plants at the edge of the pool and, unable to help myself, I went to investigate. I hadn't brought all my equipment with me but years of working with Ivriniel meant that I never left the house without at least small jar for samples and some paper and charcoal to sketch. I fetched them out of my saddlebags and made myself comfortable on a warm, sunny rock to set to work.

“They're water lilies,” Éomer told me when the horses were settled and the two men had come to join me on the rock. “We're too late in the season now but in early spring they have magnificent blooms.”

“Are they? They looked to be flowering plants to me but they're quite different from the water lilies my father keeps in his gardens. I wonder if they have the same properties.”

“Valar that was a warm ride. I'm as hot as the fires of Mount Doom. You don't mind if we swim for a moment do you, Lothíriel?” Amrothos cut in.

“Oh no, not at all, I...” But I was cut off by his whoop of joy as he began to pull his shirt over his head. I looked away, trying to stifle a laugh as seconds later a huge splash let me know that he was already underwater.

Amrothos had always been a creature of the water. In the summers in Dol Amroth he swam daily in the sea and was always the last one to come out of the water when we picnicked by the shore.

“Do you not swim as well, Lothíriel?”

I blushed. “Oh no, my lord... that is, I know how it's only....”

He frowned. “Not an activity for men and women to do together in Gondor I presume?”

I nodded mutely, pressing my lips together, mortified at the idea. The thought of any man seeing me in my shift for swimming was enough to make me blush, much less Éomer. What would it feel like though? I could imagine his warm hand catching my waist beneath the cool stream water, pulling our bodies together. His skin would be cool but beneath that I would be able to feel the hot pulse of his blood if he pulled me against him. I struggled not to shiver at the thought.

“If you prefer I could sit with you.”

“No need, my lord, I've only just started this sketch so I'll be poor and distracted company anyway.”

The sketch would never be very good. Though I was able to resist staring at them as the two men swam out into the water, I could not pull my focus from him. I dipped a handkerchief into the water and pressed the cool cloth to my lips and to the back of my neck. I felt the familiar heat of the sun on my shoulders through the thin fabric of my dress and the familiar heat between my legs that came whenever I was around Éomer that the cool stream water didn’t manage to quell. I had never heard of a woman experiencing lust. Certainly I had never felt it myself and was poorly equipped to deal with it. In all the stories I'd ever read about a man longing for a woman the only resolution that was ever gained was by seduction. But the thought of me attempting to seduce Éomer was too pitiful to contemplate.

For my own reputation I need not worry. As I had no plans to marry it might even be expected of me, were I another kind of woman, that I would take a lover eventually. A widower or an unhappily married man might enter into a liaison with a spinster such as myself. If precautions were taken to ensure either no bastard was produced or those that were kept suitably from the public eye they might do so without raising too much interest or ire from either party's family. But for Prince Imrahil’s daughter this was not an option.

If I had been another type of woman.... or perhaps if Éomer had been another type of man.

If I'd fallen in love with someone as bookish and awkward as myself, someone as far out of the scrutiny of the court as myself perhaps a marriage would have been possible for me. A quiet, insignificant son of a minor house, someone contemplative and sweet: that was a man I could imagine myself propositioning. Éomer's fierceness, honor, position and confidence made him dangerous to me. Unlike me he did not shrink back from the scrutiny of the world but rather seemed to charge out to meet it. If he were to find a woman desirable or take her to bed I was somehow sure he would take no pains to hide it. And I could never survive the scrutiny that being his mistress would require. Perhaps a bolder woman would have weathered the storm but for me...

Besides I could hardly imagine that he would take it upon himself to defile me, willing or not. There was no glory to be gained by bedding the virginal and plain daughter of his great friend, my father. I would not be responsible for driving a wedge between my family and the royal house of Rohan. And I could hardly imagine explaining to my father or brothers that I had wanted to take him as a lover.

When Amrothos and Éomer had finished swimming they dressed again and re-saddled the horses. I took a small water lily in the jar I'd brought and put it into my saddlebags.

The sun was only just starting to fade by the time we found ourselves at a handsome keep with the air of an old watch-post that over generations had grown in size to accommodate a noble house's seat. We rode into the gates and a boy ran back into the house to alert the master. We slid off our horses and were handing the reigns over to another stable lad when a shout rang out from the steps.

“Éomer my boy! What a joy you are for these old eyes!”

Éomer came up the steps and embraced the man warmly, clapping him on the shoulder. “Etan, it's been too long. I hope you'll excuse my poor manners for not sending word we would be arriving so late. Believe me my two guests had nothing to do with it. It was I who had the impetuous urge to dally on our way to see you, Bema take courtesy.”

Etan seemed to size us up. “No doubt Gondorians are known to be polite and a woman as fine as this one is hardly likely to have any ill trait about her.”

Amrothos bowed and I curtseyed. “You do us honor sir,” Amrothos said.

“Come Éomer introduce me to your friends.”

Etan it turned out was an old warrior, the former lead rider of the same eored that Éomer himself had taken over when Etan became too old to ride every day. He had trained Éomer in his youth and ridden with him in the Battle of Pelennor. He had never married it seemed, but without a companion to help him it seemed that he ran a rather neat and joyous house. The night was unexpectedly cool and fine so he arranged for a grand table to be brought outside and assembled for us to benefit from the warmth of the late summer evening. The food and drink were both very good and I found myself drinking quite a bit of a surprisingly rich, crisp and quite strong cider. Our host was also quite a good storyteller and regaled us with tales from his military days that had Amrothos and I laughing uproariously.

“It is good to see you again, Etan,” Éomer said as we finished the last course of quail cooked with rice and currants.

“You as well, dear boy. And thank you for bringing me such charming company. It has been a long while since I've had such entertaining, or lovely,” he said turning to me, “guests at my table.”

I blushed, despite knowing it was a mere formality.

“I thank you for your hospitality. And now that the wine is drunk I'm afraid I must confess that it's no coincidence that I've arranged for all of us to dine together tonight. I have a favor to ask of all of you,” Éomer said. “There is to be a tournament in three week's time at the Pelennor fields to commemorate the battle won there. I would be most pleased if the three of you would join me as guests of honor at my side during the festivities.”

Etan's smile was a beacon of joy. “I should be proud to sit next to my king at a tournament. It will keep me from competing and making a fool of myself with these young men at any rate.”

“Of course, Éomer we would be honored to sit by your side.” Amrothos answered.

“And what say you, Lothíriel?”

“It's an honor I hardly deserve but one that I shall treasure always. You spoil me greatly.”

His face was unreadable in the candlelight but it seemed to me that he almost seemed displeased with this answer, though it was quite a correct and polite answer I thought. “It is not my intention to spoil you, Lothíriel.”

As twilight descended Etan insisted on showing us to rooms he'd had prepared for us. I had felt quite tired at dinner, from the long ride and the fine wine. But once I had been shown to my room and a maid had helped me unpin my hair and arrange it back into a simple braid for sleep and brush out my gown and hand it up I found I had no desire for bed. Quite the contrary I was struck with the sudden desire to see the stars and the night forest from the rampart walls. I took the light dressing gown I had brought and availed myself of the small oil lamp that had been left before slipping out of my room into the darkened hall. My feet were no more than a whisper on the stones as I moved down the hall and pushed open the door to come out into the fresh night air.

I wanted to snuff the candle to preserve the light of the moon but was afraid that I would not be able to light it again. Instead I slipped the candle into a sheltered nook beyond the door I had pushed past and went out onto the warm spring air. In the near total darkness the stars were incredible: a tapestry of jewels in a sea of darkest blue they seemed. The moon was out and nearly full, bathing the forest in a silver glow. The rampart was built irregularly with wide slits like half-windows for men to stand in to shoot down at any invaders between larger stones designed for them to duck behind while they re-loaded their bows.

Into one of these I slid, tucking up my feet beneath me and letting my head fall back against the cool stone to gaze up at the stars. I closed my eyes and to my surprise imagined, unbidden but with perfect clarity that I was back in Dol Almroth. There was a secret little cove I knew quite near the castle where I sometimes went to bathe and collect limpets for their shells made a key ingredient in certain types of plant fertilizers. I was not sure where the vision had come from but it was almost as if I was watching myself there through a screen of dark fabric. But in my imagination I had come simply to bathe and there with me... I imagined us alone and myself free to look at him.

Wordlessly dream-Éomer took me by the hand and led me into the warm, buoyant water of the sea. We were both dressed for bathing and as we reached the place were it came up to his chest he pulled me forward and off of my feet. Up against his chest he held me, one broad hand stroked my shoulder the other my knee as he looked down on me. The tips of his hair were in the water, the bottom turning to tendrils like the roots of the tree trunks that were the little clumps of hair they led too. His hair was as gold as spun straw in the light and I let myself reach up to put a strand behind his ear, letting my hand linger their as invitation.

His lips parted in anticipation of a burning kiss...”Lothíriel don't go to sleep, I'm afraid you'll fall.”

The voice was not part of the dream though. My eyes snapped open and the fantasy was gone. I turned back toward the castle and found that Éomer (real and even more radiant than the one I had dreamed) was leaning against the castle wall in the shadows. He had not dressed for sleep, still in his tunic and breeches from dinner, but I hadn't heard the soft sound of his boots as he approached.

“I'm... that is... I'm sorry, my lord I did not hear you approach.” My voice sounded husky and weird and I tried to clear it. “I only felt the need for some fresh air.”

“I heard you go by my room. I hope you'll forgive the intrusion if it was solitude you were hoping to find.”

“No, my lord, indeed not. Your company is always welcome.”

That at least was true. Though his presence was always and sometimes painfully perturbing to me I always found that I longed for more. Whatever I tried to tell myself, to convince myself about the destructiveness of allowing myself to continue this infatuation, I found that it was like trying to argue with a river. My logic and arguments did no more to change the fact that he could bring my skin to gooseflesh with no more than a look or change the pace of my heart with no more than a word.

The bench in the stone I sat upon was more than wide enough for two so he joined me, leaning against the other side of the stone half-window. He regarded me for a long moment. Then he looked out at the forest. “When I was a lad and just learning to ride my uncle sent me here to spend the summer with Etan. It was the first time I'd ever been away from Éowyn for any great period of time and I resented it greatly. I was quite a rebellious at fourteen to begin with and being told to do something I did not wish I found highly insulting to what I felt was my newly defined manhood.”

I smiled. “You gave Etan trouble then?”

“I tried to. I think in the end however the old man managed to give more trouble than he got. He did one time however need to ride to Edoras to bring me back bound on the back of a pony like a kidnapped girl in a Haradrim story.”

I giggled. “You must have been furious.”

“I was too mortified to even be mad. I'd gone to visit a young girl I was attempting to win over to loving me with some rather hideous poetry and that she'd seen me so humiliated was almost unbearable.”

“After that did you begin to behave?”

“No, not at all. It was only once I realized that Etan could teach me more about swordplay than even my uncle that I began to respect him. At the time the only thing I cared more about then girls were the weapons of war.”

I could imagine him easily as a fourteen-year-old: all the brash confidence of him, not yet tempered by loss and battle and years. I smiled. “It's nice to imagine you thus, with less care then you have now.”

“Less care, but less sense too.”

I waved away his words with a hand. “Sense is too highly valued by half.”

“I find myself wondering what you must have been like at fourteen. It is strangely hard for me to picture you as anything less than you are, though you are much closer to that age than I it is impossible for me to imagine.”

I smiled. “I'm ashamed to say that you may be right my lord. As far as I remember I've always been the meek and boring thing I remain to be this day. Perhaps it's true that I was not always so studious and disciplined, as I told you once before Ivriniel had to work to keep me disciplined. But no one could ever have called me brash.”

“That isn't quite what I meant.” His frown now was visible even in the weak moonlight but he didn't wait for me to ask what he meant. “You are a puzzle to me, Lothíriel. I have never doubted my ability to know what someone wants before I met you. But you hold so much in reserve and your restraint always seems so boundless. A woman like you I ask myself, what secrets could she have? And why does she keep them so close? You're not a cold person, that I can easily see, but neither do you display your emotions. It seems one has to guess your mind by the secondary effects of it.”

I struggled for words. Fear clutched at my heart and my instinct to gather my proverbial skirts and run was intense. We were sailing dangerously close to territory that I was uncomfortable with. To speak of emotions between the two of us, or what I was holding back, was the clearest invitation I might ever receive to confess my love to him. And it gave me the insane desire to do so.

For a moment I imagined it, how it might to say it out loud and free myself for the need for restraint. There would half to be a glorious moment of liberation, a phoenix for hope and freedom before it would all be self-immolated in the mortification of rejection. “Éomer, I am in love with you.” I would say before leaning forward to press my lips to his. And for just a small moment it would be possible to imagine that he was going to kiss me back and return my sentiments. Would that make the inevitable moment when his hands closed on my shoulders and he drew me gently, apologetically back to see the mortified look on his face any sweeter?

Instead I forced myself to smile. “You give me too much credit, my lord. My little secrets are poor stuff indeed, hardly the kind of thing a king should trouble himself with.”

“It is not a king that is interested in your secrets, Lothíriel, it is a man,” he said quietly.

A warm shiver ran down my spine, despite the night air and seemed to curl in a molten pool in my abdomen, sinking down to the apex of my thighs. I wanted him to think of me as a man thinks of a woman, to take me as a man takes a woman. “I do wish to be your friend, Éomer, and as your friend I would keep no secret. Ask me what you wish to know and I will tell you.”

I would tell him all, I knew I would. I would walk through hot coals for him, jump from the ramparts if he asked me. He'd held me transfixed with just two fingers on my chin the morning of Eowyn's wedding ride and now he held me just as firmly with just his gaze. What he'd said about my restraint was utterly false. When it came to him I had none at all. What kept me from confession was not my pride but that I thought that he would not want me to confess, not truly. He wanted to know my secrets he said but I would not become a burden to him. To know that I loved him would make him feel obliged to me, he might even think he'd led me on. I could imagine his apology, the look of brotherly worry on his face and that of all things I could not bear.

“I would not demand more than you wish to give, Lothíriel. Not in secrets, not in anything. Whatever I have from you, let it be freely given.”

_All of me is freely given_ , the truth rose to my lips but I pushed it back. Instead I let my head fall back and my gaze lift to the skies. How could a man sit just across from me, within the reach of my arm if only I would stretch it out, and still seem as though the world was still between us?

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks as always to my beloved beta reader LBJ. She really is one of a kind and always makes the chapters better! And thanks to all who reviewed! Your words really make the story better and definitely motivate me to write faster! As always, please let me know what you think of the chapter/story in general! XO Spake


	12. Chapter 11

The week flew by with little preparation on my part. Gallen packed my best dresses neatly and efficiently into two saddle bags and then one morning woke me up with a biscuit and a cup of hot tea to drink quickly before she bustled me down to the stables. Alwil had already saddled her horse by the time I got there and was saddling mine. She was in a foul mood, having woken up with an unsettled stomach and was dreading the ride. Besides dreading her bad disposition I also had to admit my qualms about the journey itself as, although my riding had improved greatly, this would be the first really long trip I had undertaken. We had agreed to ride together however a week in advance so there was no getting out of it. I helped her put the rest of my tack on and tried not to smile at the few pointed barbs she threw my way about sleeping in and not saddling my own horse.

It was a strange thing indeed to be back on the road to Minas Tirith after all this time. So different was the travel, so different was the woman who set out on the same road that we'd come in on. At the point in the road where I'd first seen Edoras I turned in my saddle to glimpse it again. It seemed like a lifetime ago that I had swung out of the carriage that morning to sit on the back of Amrothos's horse and he had pointed out the fortifications of the city to me. We'd left before dawn so again the hill was ablaze in the sunlight. I pressed my lips together as for some reason a great uneasiness settled over me. Was it wise to leave a place I'd been so happy? The first place I could remember being happy since my mother passed to the veil. All that I had discovered in Edoras, the friends I'd made and skills I'd acquired, why did I worry that they wouldn't be there for me when I returned?

We travelled at a brisk but not brutal pace and we were a joyous party at the inns along the way or occasionally the camps we made if no inn could be found. To my surprise I enjoyed sleeping by the roadside more than the inns, although it was more difficult to soak my sore limbs. Though I had prepared a soothing balm for the inevitable saddle sores-- inevitable for an inexperienced rider such as myself-- but there was nothing that could prevent entirely the new strains the ride put on my constitution. I lay in the small travel cot Amrothos had packed for me and even the ache of my body seemed to add somehow to my contentment.

The ride seemed symbolic of my time in Rohan, a challenge I would never have dreamed myself capable of before but now found true joy in meeting. The strain of it was transmuted into enjoyment and a fierce, glowing pride that seemed to thrum deep in my chest. Rare were the times I had felt pride before but on the road I felt unexpectedly suffused with it. The knowledge that I could at least keep up with the party, though it cost me dearly, nestled in my chest like a dove burrowing down into a nest of twigs and feathers. On fine nights Amrothos would open to the top of our tent to a screen and we could lay and watch the stars as we fell asleep. I couldn't remember sleeping better than those nights.

As we arrived in Minas Tirith and came down onto Pelennor fields it became clear that the preparations for the tournament were already being set up. Great tents scattered the field turning it into a seaming meadow blooming with brightly colored cloth. Amrothos let out a whoop at the sight of the large arena that had been set up for jousting, archery, battle and other competition. Wooden benches had been erected to allow more spectators to enjoy the scenes that would play out in the next week. And on the western side a large fair had sprung up with merchants almost as far as the eye could see. It was sure to be the largest tournament in living memory.

And I was to watch it by the side of the King of Rohan and the hero of Pelennor fields.

I sat up a little straighter in the saddle and for a moment. The months I had spent in Rohan had changed me. It had been such a slow and gradual change I felt I'd hardly noticed it. But it was a different girl who'd travelled back along the road I'd come all that time ago with Ivriniel. The meek little thing who wore a child's frock and couldn't mount a horse except if it were behind her brother had been left behind. Admittedly the bud of that woman had not bloomed into a traditional rose by anyone's definition. But there were at least some womanly things about me. To have ridden in Éowyn's wedding ride, even if it was behind Alwil; to have stood on my own feet as a healer without my aunt, even if it were at her request that I had done so; to have fallen in love, even if it was only to be disappointed – these were things I could never regret. To live even this brief time in the sun of Éomer's presence was easily done at the expense of a lifetime of longing for him. To be myself at last, even if it was only to draw scrutiny and judgment from the court, was something of which I was genuinely proud.

But never was it more clear to me how greatly I had changed then that first meeting with Ivriniel.

My father, like all the other great lords, had arranged for large tents to be erected right on the field for us to sleep in and enjoy the tournament. He had arranged one for Ivriniel and my use, which sat roughly in the centre of the three others he had arranged (one for him and Amrothos and one for the family of Elphir and the family of Erchirion). Ivriniel had been sitting at a low table, pouring over a text when I'd come through the flap of the tent. I was still dressed for riding and with the dust of the road in my clothes and the simple but elegant braid Alwil had arranged for me that morning.

She looked up and seemed to take in everything at a glance: the stylish riding clothes and gloves, the new and luxurious boots and the fashionable hair. Alwil was next to me as well, having come to take tea and freshen up with me as her own father's tent was still under construction and it seemed and Fraca had gone to help with it. Our arms were linked, having walked together from the horses in familiar companionship and our attitudes towards each other were clearly ones of close companionship. It seemed like so long ago on the morning of the wedding ride she'd declared we were to be friends and friends we had clearly become.

The girl in door of her tent was not the Lothíriel that Ivriniel had seen last. I had transformed almost completely physically, from the doe-skin boots to the decorative ribbon in my hair to the stylish friend I had leaning on my arm. The supple strength of my arms and body, formed by so much riding, would not have escaped her notice either. Her eyebrows rose imperceptibly at the site of me. Then her eyes fell on the case of medicines balanced on the hip not currently pressed to Alwil's and her expression seemed to soften slightly.

She stood and came to take my hands. “Well met, Lothíriel. Lady Alwil, it is a pleasure to see you again.” She said simply. “The two of you have come for tea I presume?”

“Well met, Aunt.” I echoed.

“Well met, Lady Ivriniel.” Alwil sketched a bow.

She stood and went to the sideboard and fetched a large kettle that she began to fill with water from a jug and then threw in a little sachet of tea and spices. She made a blend of tea that was specific to her, a warm and subtle flavor that I could never quite perfect myself despite having read her recipe a hundred times and watched her make it many more. I hadn't thought when we parted ways that I would be giving up the taste of it, but I had missed it intensely in her absence.

“Aunt, allow me to...” I began. Never once in my life had Ivriniel made me tea instead of the other way around. She was happy enough to blend it together as we both knew her hand was better for that but filling and heating the kettle had always fallen to me.

She waved me off. “You and your friend may wash your faces and hands and avail yourself of the seats. You must be tired after such a long ride. I will arrange for you to have baths in here at once as well.”

“I'm...”

Alwil groaned dramatically. “Oh, Lothíriel please don't argue, a bath sounds unimaginably pleasant. And Valar only knows when my tent will be arranged, much less hot water and a tub.”

Ivriniel left without another word and Alwil and I flopped down into two chairs. “She isn't as fearsome as I remember,” Alwil said in a whisper. “I used to be quite scared of her.”

“I'm not sure either why she's making us tea. It hardly seems like her at all.”

“Perhaps she missed you.”

Perhaps, but it didn't seem to be that. Ivriniel came back in with the tea but once she had poured it out for us she seemed to fall back into a more familiar pattern. “Well, Lothíriel, where is the book? I hope you've spent your time in Rohan doing more than learn to ride and buying new clothes.”

Alwil smiled. “Oh I assure you, Lady Ivriniel, Lothíriel annoyed us all greatly with her dedication to this book. Many a great picnic was spoiled by her need to sketch a plant for hours or find a village nearby to ask about its uses.”

“Wonderful,” my aunt said without a hint of irony. “I should hope that her time has been well spent then.”

Knowing she would never rest until she'd seen it I went to my saddlebags, which I'd deposited on a small coat-rack and fished out the handsome book. Alwil was right. I'd worked hard to fill almost the entirety of the book, each page dedicated to a different kind of plant. I'd included descriptions, drawing and diagrams of the dissections of the plants and detailed paragraphs of the uses of the roots, leaves or stems. It had indeed cost me the labor of many hours and the price of many rides and excursions spent aside from the party.

Ivriniel took it and began at the beginning and the two of us seemed to fade away from her thoughts. “You've brought seeds of each of these I hope.”

“Yes, Aunt.”

“We should get to work at once I suppose. I should like to experiment with some of the uses you claim here.”

“I've tried them all, Aunt, if it is in the book I believe it to be a true use.”

“We shall see.”

She ignored us as Alwil and I took our tea together and chatted about the tournament, turning the pages of the book painfully slowly. She ignored her own tea and biscuit and when we were finished stood without ceremony. “I shall need this reproduced at once. I'll take it to a boy I know in the city who has a legible hand to start copying it this very afternoon.”

“But what about our baths?” Alwil asked, sounding alarmed.

“They're already arranged, the girls should be coming shortly with tubs I've ordered brought from my home and the hot water they've already started to boil for you.”

True to her word two shiny copper tubs were brought by cart from the city and filled with steaming water for us. A fire was built in the centre of the tent and the roof was opened so the smoke could escape. The warmth from the water and the fire was intense in the summer heat but the relief from the dust and dirt of the road was incredible. We slipped off our gowns and slid in side-by-side. I dunked my head down, bending my knees to submerge my whole head and then sitting back up. Alwil had sent a maid to fetch some of her finest soaps and shampoos from her father's house in Minas Tirith and she spoiled both of us by having generous quantities massaged into our scalps and bodies. I sat with my knees against my chest as the girl combed a fragrant oil through my hair and I wiggled my toes in the warm water, feeling that I might burst with the pleasure of it.

“I shall never get dirty again, I swear it,” Alwil groaned in her own bath. “After this Lothíriel we shall never leave this tent lest the tiniest speck of dust pollute us.”

I smiled. “I am fully in agreement with that.”

But as we dried our hair by the fire Alwil turned her attention to the invitations she had been receiving. Her maid had been running back and forth between her tent and mine all the afternoon with what seemed to me to be handfuls of elegant little cards notifying her of events she might wish to attend: an introduction of a daughter to society, a garden party to celebrate the blooming of the roses, an engagement party and the likes as well as personal notes from ladies she knew inviting her to sew with them for an afternoon or take tea or breakfast with them.

It was impossible not to feel hurt. I'd grown so accustomed to having Alwil's attention in Rohan, of being her closest friend; I had forgotten that for her I was merely a friendship of convenience. She had chosen me to be her friend but what choice had she really had? I had been the only other Gondorian lady in Edoras. If she wanted to speak Westron or have some company from her homeland, my boring and drabness was the price that she had to pay. Now that she was back in a place that offered her the old companionship of fashionable and interesting ladies had I really expected her to keep me as close as she had in Rohan? It felt silly and naive that I hadn't even considered that this was to come.

Looking at her leaf through the stack of cards I felt a suddenly as if I wanted to cry. The pain in my throat rose and though I knew no tears would come I felt my eyes sting. I tried to swallow it down, promising myself that I wouldn't allow myself to be so silly. Alwil was after all still my friend, should I not be happy for her that she had so many invitations?

She read card after card, sorting them into piles of preference and laughing to me at some of the ones she felt were more ridiculous. “Lady Thalen is absolutely out of her mind if she thinks that I am coming to her daughter's presentation to society for any other reason except to gawk at the catastrophe of what is to come,” she said sorting it into the pile of 'most likely to attend.' “That little girl is an absolutely vicious little thing just like her mother and the whole court knows it. The only good part about that is that it makes her looks seemed deserved rather than unfortunate.”

I tried for a weak smile.

“Now here's one that's taking place this afternoon: Lady Tareth invites us to watch the sunset with her on her pleasure ship for a cruise on the River Anduin to celebrate the accomplishments of her daughter Nibeneth in reconstructing the city after the battle of Pelennor.” My head shot up at the mention of Tareth and Nibeneth like I'd been shocked but Alwil took no notice. “Of course the only accomplishment Nibeneth has towards helping to rebuild the city is having a father wealthy enough to make a contribution and a mother ambitious enough to have her try to take all the public credit for it. But I do very much enjoy their pleasure ship, even if it is clearly just a trap for a royal husband in this case. And Fraca will love the fact that she's sure to have invited enough Rohirrim to make King Éomer feel at his ease.”

I managed a small laugh at that, trying to keep bitterness from it.

“What do you think, shall we go?” Alwil asked. “I know speaking with Tareth and Nibeneth and all that lot is tedious but I promise you the food and wine are always excellent and it will be a pleasant evening once we have paid the price of greeting our hosts.”

The blush I couldn't keep from my cheeks and I could feel the burning heat of the shame of it but I tried not to let my voice catch when I spoke. “Alwil, I haven't been invited... I doubt of course they would turn me away but surely it's far too brash to turn up without an invitation?”

Alwil frowned. “What do you mean you haven't been invited? I'm sure you have. Nibeneth would be a fool not to invite you after the close connection you have with the court of Rohan. If you and I don't go how can she be sure to guarantee that Éomer or Fraca or any of the other lords of Rohan attend either?”

I couldn't meet her eyes. “Perhaps she just forgot about me.”

“I doubt, Lothíriel, very much indeed, that she forgot about you.” She paused, considering. “But her mother is too shrewd not to invite you. Have you checked your invitations?'

“What invitations? I've never had a single one in my life.”

“That may be true. But given that you've arrived with the King of Rohan and he intends for you to sit next to him in the tournament I hardly suspect that will continue to be the case.” She turned to her maid. “Have any invitations come for Lady Lothíriel? Go find out.”

The girl nodded and left. “Honestly Alwil,” I insisted, “I am not sure what I would do with an invitation, even if I was to receive one.” I wanted to call the maid back and ask her not to look. The pain of having it spelled out so clearly for Alwil the kind of lady she'd picked for a friend was acute.

“You would ask me how to respond to it of course,” she said, blowing out an exasperated breath.

To my astonishment her maid soon returned with a handful of calling cards for me. “These are for you, Lady Lothíriel,” she said.

“What did I tell you! And Lady Tareth's is only at the top of the pile! Honestly, Lothíriel I don't know where you get this dramatic imagination from. The rest of your family is so sensible as to border on dull,” Alwil scolded me. But my face had cracked open into a smile that I didn't seem to be able to contain. It was ridiculous to think how much pleasure a simple stack of papers could bring me.

Naturally I had not received as many as she had but I felt it was a respectable number and I was ludicrously proud to have received them. Alwil took them summarily and sorted them with the same ruthless efficiency she had sorted her own. She threw out the cards that she'd received that I had not and announced with a finality that didn't brook any refutation that we would be attending the cruise on the Anduin with Lady Tareth that evening.

I fingered the cards, turning them over in my hands to read the scripts again. _Lady Lothiriel of Dol Almroth is cordially invited too_... _The presence of Lady Lothiriel, Princess of Dol Almoroth ,is humbly requested_.... The scripts were all so elegant. Each had been written at great expense of time and care by the lady or her daughter and all to invite me somewhere. I couldn't stop smiling.

Ivriniel returned as we both dressed for the party. Without the new text to distract her, as she could not read it while it was being copied, she seemed interested to watch the two of us get ready. She'd brought a book of some kind but I could see her watching the two of us over the top of it as if we were two insects whose behaviour she was trying to describe. Alwil would hold up a dress to me and then tie something in my hair to get a sense of the effect before shaking her head either yes or no and starting the whole process again. When she stepped out to go fetch some dress she wanted to consider and had forgotten from her bags Ivriniel spoke.

“You look very beautiful, Lothíriel, in your new dresses.”

“Ivriniel I don't...”

She raised a hand. “I brought you something, from the city: a token from your mother. I think she would have wanted you to have it this night.”

She went to her satchel and fetched out a slim leather case. From it she withdrew a simple chain of the finest Dol Almroth pearls and deep red rubies interspersed to give it character. It wasn't extravagant by any taste but the simple beauty and charm of it overwhelmed me. More than that... I remembered it. It had been a gift from my father to my mother on their wedding day and she had worn it almost routinely. He had given her more costly jewels later in their marriage, when he had inherited, but she had never forgotten her fondness for this particular string.

“Here let me fasten it on. I'm sure Alwil will find something to match it somewhere.”

I nodded. “I'm sure she will.”

“I congratulate you on your new friend by the way. A heart that devotes itself so fully to another is a rare gift indeed and should be treasured.”

It was strange to hear Ivriniel praise her. The influence the two of them had in my life seemed designed as foils “I do treasure her,” I said honestly.

“Besides, she saw the bloom in the bud that I think only a few others did.” She smiled wryly. “Myself included truth be told.”

“You let me stay in Rohan though.”

She cupped my chin. “I had an inkling. But never did I imagine what would ride back to me. You asked me the day after the wedding ride when I stitched your wound if you were like your mother. The woman who returned to me knows who she is without asking. And that is the most important lesson the world can ever teach you, Lothíriel.”

That seemed to remind her of less sentimental things and she seized upon it at once. “You did of course remember to take care of those stitches I presume? I took time to close it properly so you shouldn't be left with much to remember that misadventure if you took care.” She said sharply. But without waiting for my response pushed up the sleeve of my robe to inspect the result for herself.

I was relieved that I had remembered to put salve on it daily until the skin had softened and all that that remained was a thin edge of white to mark the scar. “I was careful with it aunt.”

She rubbed a thumb over it and a small smile, almost mischievous in nature, ghosted across her face. “So I see.”

Alwil did indeed find a dress to match the necklace. “You must let me borrow these sometime,” she said. “They're absolutely gorgeous.”

“What's mine is yours, Alwil.”

Fraca alone came to escort us. Amrothos had sent word that he intended to meet us on the boat and there was little doubt of who he had gone to escort. Fraca offered me his arm and I took it, Alwil joining with us on the other side and we strolled out into the dark. “Don't let me wander out of sight tonight,beloved,” he told Alwil with a wink. “Another man might accost me for the crime of escorting the two most beautiful women at the party without sharing the honor.”

She rolled her eyes. “We're back in Gondor, Fraca. The worst these Gondorian lords are likely to do is try to cut you up with words and you don't even speak the language.”

“Ah but you forget there will be other Rohirrim at the party and I doubt they'll use words to resolve an insult to their honor such as this.”

“Cling to my skirts if you must then.”

“Oh I intend to.”

Dusk was already settling in but the boat itself was awash with light, warm candles seeming to shine from every surface. A harpist was playing a lovely, lilting song but there were other instruments and players standing by indicating that dancing would come later once the boat had left the dock and the participants had had a bit more alcohol to loosen their spirits. Nibeneth stood at the little ramp up to the boat to greet her guests.

She looked the same as I remember—tiny, perfect and exquisite in a dark purple dress with a daring, plunging neckline and little mesh of pearls and sapphires in her hair. For a second I felt the same familiar wave of nervous energy at the sight of her and all the elegant ladies I could see gliding across the floor behind her. It reminded me of the flower picking expedition, when I had wanted to evaporate from their notice. I felt myself slip back for a moment, remembering the feelings of a girl who didn't have a proper dress and had no friends of which to speak. Fraca must have felt my hesitance because he stopped short for a moment.

“Are you alright, Lothíriel?”

“Yes, Fraca, I'm fine.”

Alwil seemed to know my thoughts at least. “Head up, Lothíriel,” she said in Westron.

We crossed the bridge and each curtseyed to our host in turn. She embraced Alwil and let Fraca kiss her hand but when she turned to me her brow wrinkled. “Well met, Lady...” Large eyes widened imperceptibly for a moment and rosebud lips parted slightly. “Lady Lothíriel...,” she recovered herself. “Well met indeed. I'm... so pleased that Rohan seems to have been so agreeable to you.”

“Well met, Lady Nibeneth.”

Alwil pressed her lips together as if she was fighting back the urge to crow as we broke off from the greeting line and made our way toward the refreshments laid out along long tables toward one end of the flat-bottomed ship. “I honestly cannot believe the look on her face,” Alwil whispered to me as she pulled me aside and Fraca broke off to retrieve something to cool us down from the walk. “I feel as though someone should knight me for this achievement. And Lady Riel who was behind us in line is a horrifying loud mouth so I'm sure the whole party is going to know before we even set sail. Honestly, Lothíriel this is better than even I had hoped for. I am so excited for tonight!”

I giggled. “Sometimes I forget you used to be a bully.”

“Oh I never do! But I can't really be blamed for this now, can I? I didn't do anything at all wrong after all. Valar just wants me to have this, Lothiriel... as a reward for good behaviour so please do shut up and let me savour it.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Fraca asked when he returned.

“Nothing at all, dear!” Alwil said a little too loudly and quickly.

“Bema what a terrifying woman I've married,” he said to me. “Look at her face, it's like a snake you've caught swallowing an egg.”

“Fraca, beloved, why don't we see what happens if you try to dance with Lothíriel first tonight,” she said, taking the wine he offered her. “As an experiment of sorts. Just to see what happens.”

“More eager than usual to be a widow tonight I see.”

“It's nothing against you, darling, widows are just such romantic characters.”

He laughed. “Not for a very fine sword would I even attempt it.”

“Oh you might be given a sword for it.”

“I prefer to receive such gifts by the hilt rather than the blade.”

The party turned out to be quite popular. Before the crew began to make movement toward launching the deck was already so crowded with people that it was impossible to see from one end to the next. A dull hum of chattering conversation and the dulcet strains of the harp intermixed pleasantly with the cool night air and candlelight as we pushed off into the dark waters of the Anduin. Amrothos found us and to no ones surprise he had brought Elioril on his arm, looking radiant as ever.

“I've never been on a boat before,” she confided. “Amrothos tells me that I shan't feel it too much but I'm dreadfully worried I'll be sick.”

“I don't think so, not on such smooth waters. But if you should we can always find someplace discreet for you to sit down for a moment.”

I searched for Éomer in the crowd but to no avail. Was it possible he hadn't made it on to the ship in time? I doubted somehow that Nibeneth would leave without him. I could see Nibeneth herself. She had positioned herself quite near the harp in full view of the party and sitting up on the railing of the boat, a vision of carefree youth and exuberance. But I didn't see the familiar blond hair that always made my heart leap in the crowd of men who surrounded her to dance attendance.

But then he seemed to appear as he always did, as if by some spell: miraculous and as ever enough to make my heart stop. He was impeccably dressed in a fine velvet tunic of dark green with the proud white horse of Rohan stitched onto it and thick silver brocade stitched around the collar and cuffs. He was wearing dark breeches and high boots. Despite the chill of the night air he wore no cloak and I was sure I was not the only maid who appreciated the unobstructed view of his broad shoulders and arms. He was accompanied by Éowyn and Faramir and almost at the same time I found them in the crowd Éowyn raised her arm and pointed to our group.

Éomer nodded and they moved towards us. I carefully schooled my glance around the party in order to make sure no one suspected me of having searched him out in the crowd. They joined our group and there was a chorus of greetings that went around, knuckles kissed and courtesies observed. Éowyn had been positioned to my right and turned to me almost immediately. “My brother has talked of little but you since he has ridden in. It seems you have made quite the impression on Edoras.”

I smiled. “He is kind to say so, my lady. It is true that the society of Edoras has been particularly kind to me but it is safer to say that it is a reflection of the society rather than of myself.”

“Humble to a fault he said. Faramir as well. You need not be afraid I will think you bragging if you admit to your successes, Lady Lothíriel.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC
> 
>  
> 
> So sorry for the delay in update. I have no excuse. LBJ had this edited for me more than two weeks ago and I was late getting it out because I needed to make a few small changes to set up what comes next and work and life have been absolutely bonkers for the past three weeks and I got lazy. Thank you guys so so so so so very much as always for the reviews. I love them and read them obsessively. I did want to address two themes in the reviews that I've noticed so I hope you'll indulge a small ramble. First: am I dragging out the romance in a will-they-won't-they style of a TV serial that has to fill 10 seasons with suspense? Maybe a little bit :). But honestly I can't write this any faster. The Éomer and Lothíriel that exist in my head are simply not there yet. They haven't grown enough as people to allow either of them to make the first move and I find when I try to write my own characters out-of-character the writing simply stops flowing and I get stuck. I have to be able to imagine them doing or saying what I put down. I can throw them together as much as I want but I honestly feel like they get to choose what they do in those scenarios. That being said... I think the next chapter will not disappoint in terms of moving the plot forward! Don't worry, action and drama are coming I promise! Second: is Lothíriel kind of falling into that trope of “not like the other girls” where she's just so special and smart and quirky and above the clear popular-girl archetype of Nibeneth? That was certainly not my intention. I think and hope that I'm writing her from my own experience of often wishing that I knew how to be more feminine. I think deep inside a lot of us utility over style types there is a “girly-girl” just dying to get out and spread her wings if only she knew how. To me Lothiriel is not like the other girls... but desperately wants to be. Thanks for indulging in the ramble! Please let me know what you think of the chapter, the story, my ramble or anything else! Reviews are the wind under my wings. And thanks, as always to LBJ who is amazing! XO Spake


	13. Chapter 12

As ever, Éomer's presence was a loadstone to my thoughts, dragging them inexorably back to him. But at least there was to be some mercy. The conversation divided by subjects along the lines of sex: my brother starting up a conversation about a new bow he'd been trying out while Alwil and Éowyn fell in immediately to talking about a favorite baker in Minas Tirith. Elinior detached herself from my brother's arm and came to stand with me.

“I wonder... Lady Lothíriel if I might trouble you to take a stroll with me around the deck,” she said, almost too softly for anyone else to hear. “I would love to take in the rest of the ship with someone who has experience of them.”

I did not bother to disabuse her of the notion that I knew something of ships. Though I had been raised around them it had been more than a decade since I had been on one myself. If she had truly wanted to learn more about them or their construction it would have been my brother who would have been suitable for the task. But something told me that she already knew that so I didn't strip back the pretence.

I offered her my arm and we broke off from the group, strolling up the side of the ship.

Though the party was crowded, the noise of it made for a paradoxically intimate environment. The music, laughter and so many conversations all flowed together into a hubbub loud enough to cover any conversation. Elinior must have known this for she started speaking almost the moment we were out of earshot of our own party. “I am sorry to trouble you with this but there is something I must speak to you about.”

I smiled. “Yes, of course, Elinior, anything. You have become very dear to our family in these past months... almost like a sister to me.”

She frowned, turning to face me. “Has he told you then?”

“Has who told me what?” I had chosen the word sister deliberately but I was hesitant to guess further at what she wanted to speak to me about. I had never been sure how much she knew of what I had seen or guessed of her relationship with my brother.

“Amrothos... has he told you that he's asked me to marry him?”

I pressed my lips together. “No, he did not say he had. When did he ask you?”

Her frown deepened. “Months ago.... tonight most recently. He's asked me five times in total. I just... that is of course I don't mean to toy with his affections but it's more complicated for me than it is for him I think. Playing with his emotions is not my wish, nor with my own if truth be told, but I cannot accept him but nor can I refuse him...” she trailed off.

My mouth went dry. Amrothos had not seemed more melancholy over the past months. If he had felt the strain of the five proposals, as she clearly had, he had betrayed no hint of it. I found myself searching my thoughts for clues that I might have missed but could think of none. He had been the same jovial brother he had always been.

“Did he not... I mean... do you not love him?” I finally managed to stutter out.

She shook her head. “Of course I love him.” Her voice was a misery.

“Then why...” I began but she must have anticipated the question.

“I am hardly the daughter-in-law your father must be expecting from him: a widow from a lesser house, a Rohirrim with barely any Westron, a woman who produced no children in her first marriage and may well be barren... your brother could have any woman he wanted,” she said. “And I want for his father... his family to be proud of his choice.”

She met my eyes steadily as she spoke, not trying to dissemble or hide what she was asking of me. My approval of the match, that was what she wanted. I felt suddenly a little bit lightheaded at the idea of Elinior-- proud, strong, brave Elinior-- needing to be told she was good enough for my brother. How could she think she was not? She had spoken true that perhaps a few matronly eyebrows might be raised at Amrothos choosing her over one of the virgin daughters of a high house of Minas Tirith. But very likely only those jealous because he had not picked their daughter.

As for my father, Elinior would delight him. Amrothos had always been the wildest of my brothers and I knew my father had worried that he would choose his bride unwisely. An even-tempered and sensible widow, the kind of woman who had not leaped at the chance to marry him when she was not sure of how she would be received, would be far more than he had expected.

So stunned was I by this revelation that she spoke before I could. “I will not accept him if it is to cause a rift between him and his family. I will not have people say that he was seduced into the marriage by me and a fool for taking me.” She spoke with a steel edge in her voice that I did not doubt was true and again I was stunned. “Your brother says I'm ridiculous to think such things but I will not compromise his honor to have him.”

How could I have not seen this side of her? She had always seemed so invincible to me, so self-assured and confident. It was anathema to think of her mired in such indecision and doubt. Or was it merely some form of pretension that made me think that only I was subject to such bitter self-reflection.

I took her hands in mine, feeling a kinship with her now that had nothing to do with my brother. “I'm afraid, Elinior that we must begin our relationship as sisters at odds for I am wholly of my brother's opinion. Your fears are unfounded completely. I know my father and my family would be nothing but proud of Amrothos for choosing such a suitable woman such as yourself,” I said fervently. “And proud of him for winning your love.”

The stiff tension in her body seemed only to increase for a moment. Her jaw hardening as if she could not quite bring herself to believe my words. “Your father though will...”

“Will be completely charmed by you,” I cut her off. “The only thing that will give him pause is that you do truly seem to love the silliest of his sons when you could have had a more sensible one I'm sure, were they not already married.”

She paused, biting her lip. “Do you find the match suitable then?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“And you think your father will? Your brothers will?”

“They will be very glad that Amrothos has chosen someone with a little more sense than he has for his partner and mother to his children I'm sure.”

“There will be whispers I am barren. I never gave my first husband an heir after all.”

It did not seem kind to her first husband to tell her that in my experience nine out of ten times it was the man who was at fault for such problems. Instead I simply said, “So there will be whispers. I shall not hear them and neither will you.”

Her fingers softened in mine and for the first time a little joyful smile seemed to peak up on the corner of her lips. “Truly Lothíriel you think we could be sisters?”

“I cannot imagine any other I would rather have.”

Beaming she took my arm again and strolled forward. We walked the length of the ship twice, Elinior needing to dispel her nervous, excited energy and the cover of the conversation to plan out the introductions of our two families. In Rohan as in Gondor it would start with a private dinner and a formalization of the wedding plans, the dowry and where the new couple would make their seat. After that there would be the formal party to announce the new couple as engaged to society at large. Traditionally this would take place at the bride's residence but as Elinior had no family residence in Minas Tirith would likely take place at my father's house instead.

When we returned to the group my brother caught my eye for a second, looking as close to nervous as I had ever seen him. But when he saw our beaming smiles his face relaxed slightly and he returned our expression, nodding once to me in acknowledgment.

Éowyn and Alwil too must have noticed our expressions and guessed a little of what we had spoken. Éowyn was too tactful to mention it directly but Alwil twined her arm around Elinior's and gave her a conspiratorial squeeze. “I don't know if I've ever mentioned this to you Elinior but I happen to know all the best butchers and bakers and printers in Minas Tirith if you suddenly find yourself in need of help planning a party. Not to mention the best clothiers.”

Elinior blushed and shook her head but her smile was so big it looked almost to strain her cheeks. “I will keep that in mind should I ever find the need.”

Such a joyous mood was I in that it couldn't even be ruined by what came next.

Once we had left the dock and were well out onto the calm waters space was cleared for a dance floor and the music died down for a moment. Nibeneth stood with her parents at the center of the floor to formally open the dancing. Her father spoke first, “thank you all for coming to honor us with your presence tonight as we celebrate the accomplishments of our city in the past year. As we have striven together to rebuild Minas Tirith we have grown closer to each other and to our neighbors in Rohan. These renewed bonds have been the labor of many, not the least of whom I am proud to say has been my own daughter Nibeneth who has worked tirelessly this season to make sure that the spirits of the city have been lifted and that through her generosity many neighbourhoods destroyed in the war have been rebuilt.

“I know that our brothers in the North have faced a similar devastation and process of renewal and I invite now Éomer, King of Rohan, to say a few words.”

I was ashamed at what I felt watching Éomer stroll forward to stand beside her family. Jealousy rose like bile in my throat, making my fingers clench involuntarily. I hated how natural he looked standing beside her. They were a study in contrasts, one fair and tall and broad, the other tiny, perfect and dark, and yet they looked almost as if they were created for each other, each a comparison to draw out the best features of the other.

“Each step that Rohan or Gondor takes toward rebuilding itself is a step along the path of the other. We the Rohirrim have renewed our promise, the Oath of Erol, and we stand beside our brother men of Gondor and Minas Tirith with pride. King Elessar and Queen Arwen have asked me to present you with their token of thanks, a crown of flowers woven by the hands of the Queen herself, for the work you have done restoring the city and their lands.”

A servant stepped forward and opened a box from which Éomer took a beautiful crown of flowers—extravagant blooms of deep lavender and rose that no doubt came from the Queen's garden. Even in the dim golden light of the candles and sunset it seemed to shine with the brilliance of the summer days that had grown the flowers.

Nibeneth knelt demurely and Éomer put the crown on her head. It was a moment that could easily have been painted. A celebration of youth and summer, endless and eternal it seemed. But for me it seemed that there was a sudden frost within my chest as he took her hand to raise her up and lead her out onto the dance floor.

They danced the first measure together, alone on the floor and the image of them seemed burned into my brain. Later that night in the darkness of the tent I imaged I could see the two of them in the darkness, gliding gracefully against the backdrop of the moon and dark water.

I was grateful that when the song ended Amrothos gave me no time to wonder if I would be partner-less for the next dance. I wanted more than anything to have been asked to dance by the next time Éomer saw me. If it was to occur to him to ask me to dance out of a sense of pity I was not sure I could have borne it.

“Come sister,” Amrothos said, offering his hand.

I took it gratefully and let him lead me out onto the floor. Amrothos wasted no time. “She has consented to marry me then?” he asked.

“Consented to meet our father at least. How could you not tell me you had asked her though, Amrothos?” I kept my tone light. “All these months I was wondering when you would and you already had!”

He sighed. “How could I Lothíriel when she was yet to give me the joy of acceptance? I wanted to tell you but how could I when she had all but refused me?”

Here again was another surprise. Amrothos had been ashamed. My hot-headed, brash and sincere brother had been embarrassed that Elinior had not immediately said yes, worried that she would not agree at all in fact.

I felt suddenly like a fool. So involved in my own internal struggle with my love for Éomer I had failed to consider that others might be suffering as well. It had all been there in front of me—an affair that had clearly turned to love but had yet to crystallize fully. How had I not seen that it must have been painful for the two of them? I knew their spirits both well enough to know that neither would have been the kind to hesitate, so why had I not guessed at their reason for hesitation? And it had been within my power to resolve it in some way. A word of encouragement from me to either of them might have been the catalyst for a confession from either.

And yet I had not thought of it, had not thought of action.

“I am ashamed of myself,” I said suddenly.

Amrothos seemed surprised to hear me speak so plainly. “Whatever for?”

“I should have acted in the interest of you both. I saw enough to know what to do and yet... I was content to let it play out without my interference. I was too afraid that my actions would disturb something yet blooming I did not allow myself to intervene, even when I should have.”

He frowned. “Lothiriel you.... that is to say you were quite tolerant of... I mean to say that I am grateful to you, sister for letting our love grow as it would. You would have been within your rights to insist that I be either more circumspect or more forthcoming.”

But even that had been out of a dreadful passivity. It had been no heroic action but rather a lack of it that had made me say nothing when he returned from visiting her in the small hours, or sometimes even only for teatime. As a child I had followed after my brothers with a wretched loyalty, eager to please at any cost, afraid to loose the only company of others that I had. To tell my brother that his affair was beginning to cost him and the lady in question pain would have been beyond my ability. And so I had denied myself even the possibility of recognizing that hard truth, so as to spare myself the pain of having to say it to him, to risk his anger or disapproval.

I tried to smile. “Perhaps now the only thing that needs to be done is to rejoice in the fact that I am to have a new sister.”

“I could not agree more.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Éowyn found me the next day in the process of drying and preparing ginger. I had decided to make some tea for Alwil who, though showing no outward sign she yet understood the implication of this, had continued to find herself unable to tolerate the thought of food in the morning since we had set out for Minas Tirith. It was an arduous process requiring quite a bit of time to finely slice, grind, mix and dry but something I found quite pleasant overall. I had spread out a large mat of reeds on the floor and was trimming the ginger into thin slices with a sharp blade.

“Hello, Lady Lothíriel! It smells heavenly in here, what are you doing?”

“Oh hello, Lady Éowyn!”

I grinned. “Drying ginger for a tea for stomach cures. It's my own recipe in fact. I've been adding some cinnamon for flavor and even a touch of salt and garlic which settles the stomach and helps with dehydration.”

“Oh I didn't mean to interrupt. Shall I come back at another time? I only wondered if I could trouble you for some salve for my maid. She burned her hand rather badly this morning heating the kettle and I'm worried it should fester.”

“Of course, only let me fetch my bag and I will come to see her with you to help bandage it. If the burn goes to the bone or deep into her flesh it will need very careful attention for a week or more.”

I reached for my bag and slung it over my shoulder and we walked together the short way to the keep.

The maid had burned her hand badly but not to bone so I spread some salve on it and bandaged it for her, giving her a jar of the salve and instructions on how to clean and tend the wound. After I had finished Éowyn invited me to join her for the afternoon meal. “I've been absolutely yearning for beef and potato stew. This past month I think I've eaten nothing but it. I'm not sure Faramir can even look at the stuff anymore. I hope you don't mind how plain the fare is.”

“That sounds delightful. I'm ravenous.”

A small table was set outside the tent for us under the shade of a great tree. I sat and unslung my box of medicines from over my arm, placing it on the table beside me.

Éowyn leaned forward to examine it, smiled and tapped the glass poppy button with a single fingernail. “My brother gave you this.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“He did.” I said with a smile. “How did you know?”

“It was one of my mother's best-loved broaches. Our father had it made for her out of her favorite flower. He said that he searched for ten days for the perfect specimen for her before giving it to the jeweller.”

My mouth went suddenly dry. “Oh, I had no idea it was so significant! I never should have accepted...”

She waved me off. “My mother would have loved to see her treasure adorn something that's used to heal so many. And I think she would have wanted you to have it.”

I ran my fingers over the glass button. “I do admit I love it. The satchel was so plain before I hardly even noticed it, but now I smile every time I look at it. I never would have guessed such a small change would make so much difference to how I see it.”

“Strange how things can change their meaning in such small but significant ways.” Her smile was slightly mischievous as she said it. A familiar expression I'd seen many times on more masculine features.

“It's been years since I've seen Éomer this happy,” she said once she had poured out the tea for us both. “During the war he had a great burden to bear and since.... hardly less. But these days there seems to be something that gives him new strength and joy in his life.”

“Rohan is recovering in leaps and bounds from the war. He's rightfully proud of the work he has done to make it so.”

Her smile quirked again. “Yes. So he says. He's a poor correspondent you know but he writes me a few short lines at the end of every week... Still, I was surprised at how many times I read your name this summer.”

My head shot up.

“Indeed.” She paused for a moment but then took pity, knowing I couldn't pry into their correspondence by asking what he had written but must want to know. “He wrote to me quite a bit about the Gondorian lady learning to ride, teaching Gallen to read and brew potions, finding her on the road in simple country clothes after a rain...” She laughed at my flaming red cheeks. “Oh you came across quite charmingly, I was ever so anxious to really finally meet you properly as I'm not sure we ever really spoke at my wedding.”

“Your brother has been very kind to me.”

“Yes he has, hasn't he? He is more famous for his anger than his sweetness and yet you seem to bring it out of him easily.”

I had no idea what to say in reply to that so I simply stirred my tea, hoping it would cool. She waited for another moment to see if I would say something in reply before letting the conversation pass on to another topic. “He said as well that you're writing a book on Rohirric plants and their medical uses. I would love to hear what you've discovered.”

The beef and potato stew was delicious, glistening with fat and thick with carrots and leaks served with a generous helping of warm bread slathered with butter and salt. I was truly hungry, having woken up early and not taken breakfast as I had gone to look for the wild ginger to dry that morning before the city had awoken for the tournament.

“You'll sit beside me for the bouts this afternoon I hope,” Éowyn said as we finished our meal and tea was served.

I shook my head. “It would be an honor of course but I'm afraid I must return to the city. My father intends to dine this evening at our residence there and has requested my help with preparations.”

Éowyn smiled, seeming to know who we would be hosting that evening. “I am... glad to hear he will have your help. Still, I'm disappointed not to have your company this afternoon. Perhaps some other time we can sit beside each other? I would like to get to know you a little better than I fear I do.”

“You honor me, Lady Éowyn, I am very grateful for such kind words from a hero such as yourself.”

“Only natural that I take an interest in someone living in the heart of all I hold dear.”

I smiled. “Oh if it's news of Edoras you're wanting I'm afraid Alwil is a better source of information than I am.”

She returned my smile but only said, “Yes I would imagine so.”

On my way back to my tent to refresh myself I stopped by Alwil's tent to see how she fared.

“Alwil?” I called in greeting.

“Hello, Lothíriel!” A cheery voice greeted me. I ducked under the flap of the large tent and was surprised to find her sitting up and taking tea with a crust of bread. Her usual two eggs and thick pat of salted butter for the toast was nowhere to be seen but she looked as well as she ever did. “Come join me for breakfast won't you?”

“I've only just now eaten the noon meal.”

She frowned. “Oh? Is it so late? I'm afraid I laid in bed quite late this morning then. Have some tea at least ~~then~~.”

“I'm actually on my way to help prepare for dinner this evening. My father is hosting Lady Elinior and her family. I was wondering if you might do me the honor of making sure that I haven't gone terribly wrong with the menu I've selected.”

“Yes of course, why wouldn’t I?”

I had to fight not to smile. Alwil was never one to admit weakness. Perhaps I would be better off giving the ginger tea to Fraca if I wanted to make sure she actually drank it. Wídwine, had she accompanied us, would have know immediately what was the matter with Alwil, but Fraca I was sure had not guessed. Alwil likely knew herself I felt but I respected her wish not to speak of it so soon. Gondorian superstition was quite firm on that count.

 

 

 

 

Dinner with Elinior and her family was a joyous, boisterous affair.

Though initially there was some stilted formality to the conversation the food and ale and very nice mead, furnished courtesy of our guests, loosened all tongues present. By the time the individual pies of summer fruit that Alwil had recommended were served my father was as much in his cups as I had ever seen him and practically leaping over the table every second sentence to embrace Lord Crannion and refill his cup. Even Ivriniel had agreed to join us and was surprisingly restrained in her questioning of Elinior in her knowledge of Rohirric plants.

By the time we had waved our guests off in their carriage, quite late at night, Amrothos (uncharacteristically sober in the face of his future father-in-law) had to support our father bodily as he insisted that we all retire to the parlor for just one more drink to celebrate the match again. Amrothos deposited our father on the couch and went to pour us all some ale while I knelt by the fire to stoke it up.

“What a success! What a success!” My father warbled. “A joyous day indeed for our family, Amrothos my boy! We shall have the engagement party directly, here of course. Perhaps the day after tomorrow if your sister and her clever little friend can arrange it. You can manage that can't you, Lothíriel?”

I smiled. “I would of course be happy to try.”

“Wedding next spring I think and then we'll settle you in any of the holdings you like, my boy. We'll take out the map tomorrow with your betrothed to see what suits you best.”

“I think Elinior will want to spend at least part of the year in Rohan father...” Amrothos began cautiously. “She is quite fond of her father's seat in...”

“Of course, of course, you should spend time with them as well. We shall only find you some place nearby in Dol Almroth as well! You can spend your betrothal time finding a suitable castle for you both.”

“Send someone trustworthy to pack up their belongings in Edoras, Imrahil!” Ivriniel cut in sharply. “I sent Lothíriel with some quite good plant presses and tools, I won't have them destroyed in transit by handling by some ignoramus.”

My head shot up at that. “Pack up in Edoras?” The words tumbled forth before I could stop them.

But no one seemed to pay me any attention. My father waved my Aunt away. “Yes of course I shall Ivriniel, worry not about your bottles and potions...”

My mind was racing though. How could I have not seen this coming? Of course with the new engagement Elinior and Amrothos would be expected to return to their respective homes for the length of the betrothal. With no chaperon in Edoras I too would likely be expected to return to Dol Almroth. My heart lurched with sudden dread. I hadn't been thinking about the engagement practically, too excited for my brother and his love.

Éomer. I was going to lose Éomer. My mind filled with him, overwhelming my senses. The heat of the fire washed over me where I knelt and seemed filled with the sensation of him: the frisson of anticipation whenever I saw him, the strength of his jaw and hands and arms, how it had felt when he had held me the day of his sister's wedding ride, my heart beating like a bird’s in his arms.

So consumed was I that it was almost a surprise to hear his name spoken aloud.

The discussion had moved on, over further details of the engagement but my brother it seemed was anxious to return to the tents. He stood, draining his cup. “Come, father, let me take poor Lothíriel home. It's late and she's practically fainting the poor thing.”

“Yes, of course, only I have some books I meant to send to Éomer this afternoon and it slipped my mind. You wouldn't mind taking them to him would you?”

“No of course not.”

“They're in the study on my desk, Lothíriel. Be a good girl and fetch them for me will you?”

“Yes, of course.”

I rose from where I knelt and went to my father's study almost in a spell. I put down medicine box on a low table and carefully removed the first and second layer of small wooden frames that held the bottles in place. Beneath the last layer, hidden between it and the leather of the case itself was the letter I had written to Éomer the night we had spent at Etan's. We had spoken together on the ramparts for an hour or more. Only when the night had deepened so that even the forest around us was still and quiet and even the owls seeming to have gone to bed, did he finally suggest we return to our respective rooms. I had been shivering despite the robe but deliriously happy when I had returned. Stoking the fire though I had been filled with a strange energy, an irresistible compulsion.

Sitting by the fire I had taken a piece of parchment and began to write.

 

_Éomer,_

_I need to tell you what the gift of a juniper branch means from a maiden of Dol Almroth...._

 

It was a confession of love to any who read it. I had not tried to disguise the fact. The words I had held back for so many months came spilling out onto the page, my hand moving so quickly as to smudge some of the ink. But my mind had raced on, furious to lay out my feelings on the page if not in the open air.

I had not thought to give it to him, but neither could I quite bring myself to consign it to the fire. So I had folded it up and put it at the bottom of the medicine box as another lady might have hid love letters at the bottom of a jewellery box. But now another strange compulsion had seized me.

Éowyn had said that her brother had written to her about me. And had he not shown me favor? Had he not brought me with him back to Minas Tirith, riding with him where a future queen might sit? Was there not a chance that he felt something for me? With the letter still in my fingers I went to the large glass window in my father's study, transformed into a mirror by the moonlight. I tried to inspect what I saw there with indifferent eyes, not to judge what I knew to be true of myself but to see what another might see.

The woman in the glass did not look familiar when scrutinized thus. The pale red robe with a simple elegant cut hung well on her body. Perhaps the dress was a touch modest with only a simple collar of stitched ornamentation as decoration but it looked well on her. She was taller than the vision of classic beauty and her features were not particularly striking, wide eyes and heart shaped lips being spoiled slightly by a nose that was very clearly a gift from the paternal line. There was something unmaidenly about her, a little seriousness of the dress and hair and brow that could not be overlooked. Perhaps she would never be the most asked-for hand at a dance but what about her disqualified her from being queen of Rohan I could not see.

And would I not be a good match for Éomer for other reasons? He and my father and brothers had fought together in the Ring War and formed a close bond. Not only that but coming from one of the great houses of Gondor an alliance between us would be a further strengthening of the renewed bond between our two countries. Had I been another sort of girl my father or King Elessar might have arranged a marriage between us for political reasons alone.

If I left Edoras now I was sure I would loose him. Even if I returned with Amrothos the next time he travelled to Rohan it would never be the same. I had been in his life now the most I ever would be, grown the closest to him I could hope to.

I felt almost feverish with the thought, sure my own pulse was bounding.

With trembling hands opened one of the books that my father had set out lest Amrothos forget them, and slipped the envelope between the pages, wedging it home so it wouldn't flutter out. I shut the book again and felt as if the world was beginning to spin out of control.

What was I doing putting that letter in the book to be found? Éomer had given me no indication that he felt more for me than he might as my father's daughter. I gripped the edges of the book again to open them when the door banged open and Amrothos strolled in.

Like a thief caught in the act, I jerked back from the book. In the dimness and in his fatigue Amrothos did not seem to notice my pale face and guilty expression. “Come on, Lothíriel, we best be getting back down to the tents before the sun comes up!” he said with a yawn. He hefted the two books and slid them home into his saddlebags. “I can deposit these with Éomer on my way, I'm sure he'll be awake still and want to hear my good news.”

Numb and shaking I followed him into the darkness.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC:
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know what you think please! Reviews definitely fuel the fire of my writing is all I'm saying! Long ones in particular! And a very huge and special thanks as always to Lady Bluejay for all that she does correcting my spelling, turn of phrase and world-building! She's my personal hero. XO Spake


	14. Chapter 13

The morning of Amrothos's engagement party I woke to the sound of Alwil's retching. She'd slept in my bed at my father's house in the city the night before. Both of us had been so tired from our work to get the party ready we'd hardly had the energy to splash water on our faces and clean our teeth before we'd changed into my old unfashionable nightgowns and pulled the blankets of my childhood bed over us.

I rose and slipped out of bed. There was a slight chill to the morning that heralded the coming of the autumn and I winced as my feet touched the cool floorboards. She was bent over the chamber pot looking pale and miserable, hair clinging limply to her sweaty forehead. I went to the basin and brought her a cool cloth.

“I'll get some ginger from the kitchen.”

“Don't bother, I wont' be able to keep anything down.”

“Just for the smell at first. I'll make you some tea for when you can stomach it.”

“Don't trouble yourself Lothíriel, it will pass in a moment.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

I came back with the ginger and some lemongrass as well for good measure, which I put with some water in a pot over the fire, stoking it to a blaze.

She had vomited again and looked somehow even more miserable than she had, a difficult feat. She watched me through stilted eyes as I put the tea on without remark. “How long does this stage usually last then?” she finally asked, quietly.

I looked up, surprised that she had spoken so directly.

“It depends. Some women have it for many months. In my experience thoughit doesn't last long in those who have it this badly.”

“Thank Bema.”

I hesitated. “How... how far along are you?”

“I've only missed a single moon's blood. Maybe seven weeks or so. To early to be sure it will last.”

I nodded. “Have you been disappointed before?”

“Once.” She shivered. “Just before you arrived.”

I wondered briefly if that had had any part in her decision to befriend a healer who had just arrived but put the ungenerous thought from my head just as soon as it had come. Whatever her motivations had been initially Alwil's friendship had more than proved itself by now. It was only an unkind and unworthy thought to wonder at her motivations in the beginning.

“One is not enough for a pattern. It's not uncommon to loose the first one. I wouldn't worry for this one. Does Fraca know?”

She shook her head. “I don't think so anyway. I'm too scared to speak of it to him. He was devastated after we lost the first one.” She smiled. “Besides he'd probably want me to go back to Edoras in a wagon if he found out, though Wídwine says that's rubbish this early along.”

“She's right about that. It's too small to be bothered by riding at this stage. Later on though you'll want to avoid it.”

She sighed. “I can't believe you're leaving Edoras just when I need you. Between Wídwine and Fraca I'm going to be driven mad, I'm sure. I'll need you there as the voice of reason to tell me what is and is not actually sensible. Just like your witless brother to go and get engaged, whisking you back to Dol Almroth at this time.”

I smiled. “You once said you would have written backto me if I'd written you after that summer we spent together as girls. I guess we'll have to put that theory to the test.”

She laughed. “Oh just try to stop me. And you better answer my letters, no matter how long and full of complaints and questions they become.”

“I promise.”

Eventually she was able to drink some of the tea I made for her and then to sit up, brush her teeth and finally put away ~~a~~ the rather heroic breakfast I had brought for us both.

“You'll need your strength for today,” she scolded me as she took yet another rasher of bacon.

She was proved right of course. It seemed that we spent all day in the entrance hall directing various vendors and tradespeople where to set up their wares. The party was meant to make the most of the last of the fine weather of early autumn. My father's residence in Minas Tirith had a wide lawn behind it and tables had been arranged outside for the guests to enjoy. The idyllic little pond with the carved stone swans that had been such a point of fascination for me as a child that I had gone so far as to name them all, was on full display. The summer roses that had been a project of my mothers had bloomed spectacularly that year and we had cut many of them to make the centrepieces of the tables. Flowers went up in the dinning room, ribbons went up over every surface and the abundance of food threatened to spill off of every flat surface that could be utilized.

Elinior had come over with the intention of helping but Alwil had consigned her to the upstairs where she spent the day getting ready and staying away from the sweaty and exhausting work that fell to the two of us. By the time Alwil decided we could join her for tea and bathe ourselves I was genuinely tired and hungry. Elinior, looking beautiful and harrowed by nerves, sat straight up at the table and only nibbled on the bread served with the tea while the two of us tucked in with real appetite.

I had dressed in a pale green dress with roses stitched about the hem and neckline in her honor. Alwil's maid had spent so much time on the elaborate arranging of Elinior's hair that she had no more time to spare for ours and the two of us wore only simple matching braids. “Here,” Alwil had said with a laugh, ferreting out two matching mother-of-pearl clips, “now we'll look even more like spinster sisters together.”

I stood for a long time looking in the mirror though before I decided I was ready for the party. This would be the first time I would have seen Éomer since I had given him the letter and I was determined to make the right impression. I was pleased that the simplicity, almost severity, of my dress and hair seemed to stand against the idea of a romantic gesture. I was determined not to seem as if I expected an answer or a gesture from him. For the first time in my life I wanted to appear more sensible than I really was: not the kind of girl who would send an ill-advised note to an older-brother's friend she was secretly in love with.

That he had sent no word in return, had not sought me out in the days since, was worrying, filling me with a nervous tension that was almost unbearable. At first I had assumed that it meant that he did not return my feelings but as the second day had come with no word I had decided not. It was too unlike Éomer not to take any action on finding the letter. He was too honorable to avoid dealing with the matter in a forthright and direct manner. If he meant to answer me in the negative I was sure he would have done so swiftly.

He must have simply not opened the book yet, not found the note. Not unthinkable, given the amount of obligations he no doubt had in this short trip to Minas Tirith. Likely he had little time to read.

The thought of that however was somehow worse. The letter hung over my head like an axe waiting to fall and all I could do was wait in nervous dread for his response to it. Perhaps even now he was reading it, perhaps he had that morning and decided to tell me his answer in person. The image that had formed in my mind with perfect clarity was of him cringing at my words was an almost physical torment. If I thought about it too long I wanted to crawl out of my skin, writhing away from the disgust for myself that overwhelmed me.

Such were my thoughts as we finished our tea and, thankfully, were swept back into the preparations for the party. Elinior and I were called downstairs as the first of our guests arrived. Our two families stood together on the step to greet our guests. Elinior offered mead while the rest of us shook hands. Eventually I was allowed to fall back once a significant portion of the guests had arrived – in theory to tend to party matters.

In reality I found a glass of wine and Alwil and let her answer any and all questions directed at me. As the party grew in number I even allowed myself to escape off to the gardens for a little bit of fresh air and solitude, my first moment of reflection in the day to collect my thoughts.

I heard the crunch of boots on the gravel behind me and somehow didn't need to be told who approached. Something about his presence was unmistakable to me. I turned, smiling. “Hello, my lord, enjoying the party, I hope?”

He smiled and came to stand beside where I sat on the edge of the fountain. “More than you seem to be, Lothíriel. Escaped from the crowds already?”

“We shy and uninteresting maidens can only take so much fun at once before we need to escape I suppose.”

“Here I am, escaping with you and no one has ever accused me of being a shy or uninteresting maid.”

I shrugged. “War heroes, men in general, I expect are painted in a more glamorous light for only being able to tolerate parties for so long.”

“Probably that's right. Rather unfair isn't it.”

“Quite.”

“In fact I find that I've had rather more of parties and public events just now than I care for overall. I was happy to come back to Minas Tirith, to see the Pelennor in a different light, but damn me if I'm not ready to go back to Rohan and stay in Edoras for a while after this.”

I fought back my first response, which was to say I envied him. Though it was true, I did not want him to construe it as me asking to be invited back to Edoras. It would feel too much like begging. “I'm sure the city will be glad for you to be back as well.”

“Amrothos says that you've made preparations to return to Dol Almroth. You're not going to return with me to Edoras?”

I tried to smile. “No, my lord. With the new engagement I will have no chaperon in the city and my family will need me here. Alwil of course has invited me to stay with her whenever I like so perhaps I will be able to visit within the next year if my father can spare me.”

More footsteps on the gravel heralded the approach of others.

“Come riding with me tomorrow,” he said suddenly, taking one hand in his. “Early in the morning before the camp's woken up so we can get out before we have to make a party of it.”

Suddenly breathless at his nearness I nodded. “Alright. What time?”

“Just after dawn. We can meet at the paddocks and slip out unnoticed. I want to speak to you about something rather important.”

My heart lurched. Had he read the letter after all? His features were unreadable, twisted in a firm, serious expression that was quite unlike him. But I could only spare a minute to wonder for it would not do to be discovered in such an intmate position. He let go of my fingers and stepped back.

The party that came around the bend was rather large, a mix of young Rohirrim and Gondorians that was quite joyful and swept us up and back toward the party again but not before he gave me that special, mercurial smile that seemed to open something warm and tender in my chest that only he could.

He danced with me a few times that night but no more than any other maiden. Something about his embrace seemed suddenly careful though. In Edoras I always had the impression that he held me to him much closer than any other man, that his fingers against the small of my back held a special power in them, a unique warmth that radiated from him. But though he gave me a warm smile at the conclusion of every dance there was something newly reserved in his grip on my fingers.

Had he read the letter? The more I thought on it, the less certain I became. It was as though my very desperation to know the truth itself was an impediment – as though my agitated effort were stirring sediment at the bottom of some great lake of water, obscuring my ability to see through the waters.

As the late afternoon wore on and dusk began to fall the party drifted indoors. Still it managed to be quite a gay party with most of our guests reluctant to leave. Alwil and Fraca were dancing together with real joy Elinior and Amrothos stood to one side of the floor, still receiving well-wishers, and my father and Elinior's were chatting together at a table as if they'd been friends for a decade or more.

“Lothíriel, my daughter!” Lord Crannion called to me in Rohirric, using the familiar address to denote the new connection between our families and pay honor to it. To the Rohirric way of thinking once his daughter had married my brother I would in fact become his daughter and calling me as such now in light of the engagement was a mark of affection for both me and my family.

I smiled and went over, making a little informal inclination of my head. Rohirric manners dictated that we be as informal, and therefore as friendly, as we could be while forming a new engagement. “What can your daughter do for you sir?” I answered in his own tongue.

“Oh well done, Lothi!” My father looked ready to applaud the sentence. “Is her Rohirric quite good?”

Though he could hardly answer such a question with anything but an affirmative, Lord Crannion’s beaming expression was more than enthusiastic. “She is known for it, Imrahil! Known throughout Edoras for the head on her shoulders! She does you proud with her tongue as with her hands!”

I laughed. “I am hardly Alwil but I make myself understood.”

“Nonsense! You are too modest by half!” He turned to my father. “The only complaint anyone could ever lay at your daughters feet of course!”

My father put an affectionate hand on my head. “Yes of course.”

“But dear one do go down and fetch me and this young fellow another bottle of the mead we had sent over for the celebration! I'm not quite done toasting his health and his fine hearth I think,” Lord Crannion announced.

My father raised his glass in approval. “I say, Crannion, you are a solid one.”

I fought not to ask if the two of them were quite sure they knew what they were doing. I fully expected to find my father in bed the next day until noon and nursing his headache for a day or more, as it was, never mind poor Lord Crannion who would have to sleep in a tent that night. But looking at the two of them I knew mentioning it in the mood they were in would only goad them to indulge more so with a smile and a dutiful courtesy I excused myself and went in search of what they had asked for.

I had just found the bottles in the cellar when I heard two familiar voices in the hall above, filtering down to me as they were isolated from the roar of the party and separated by only a few stone corridors.

By some strange instinct, I froze where I was, hidden in the shadows of the cellar and by the racks of bottles. Perhaps I didn't want to be discovered, off alone again from the party and on an errand which smacked of the kind of eternally spinster woman who tends to the needs of her parents and uncles, having no children of her own. Perhaps it was simply the nervousness I felt around the two of them. Perhaps it was simply the thought of the letter still looming like one of those strange and sudden waves that sometimes wreaked destruction on the coastal towns of Dol Almroth. The two of them were arm and arm and had clearly come to fetch a bottle themselves.

Éowyn was speaking excitedly. “This is worthy of a toast if anything I've ever heard is! I'm sure Imrahil won't mind if we open a bottle just for the two of us.”

“In the circumstances I should hope not.” I could tell by the warmth of his voice he was smiling.

“Do you really mean to offer for her hand then brother?”

“I can think of no other who I would trust to raise my children or want to share my bed.”

“I am so happy for you brother. She will make a fine Queen.”

“Soon ' _The Flower_ ' will have a new court and a new home, or so I hope.”

I felt as though I'd been struck hard enough to knock the wind from my lungs. _'The Flower of the Court'! Nibeneth!_ Éomer was intending to propose to Nibeneth. Tears welled in my eyes unbidden and I fought not to sink down to my knees where I stood or to fall back against the bottles and rattle them.

“May she bloom in Edoras like never before!”

The two of them took a bottle and retreated back up the stairs arm and arm. When the cellar door closed behind them I let myself take in the gasping breath I had been holding back.

_Stupid girl!_ I cursed myself. _How could you let yourself be so silly? How could you have thought to send that letter?_

How could I cry over this? After failing to cry over all the men I'd seen fall on this very field this was what brought tears to my eyes? My own stupid and personal folly? The loss of a lover I'd never even had?

I wanted to curse myself for my stupidity and childishness. I sank down, cupping my legs with my hands and bending over my knees. I felt as though the world was spinning about me and I could hear a ringing in my ears like some great insect. I felt as if I might be sick and struggled not to retch on the cellar floor.

But the bottle in my hand was a reminder of what I had to do, that my father and Lord Crannion were waiting for me. The horror of being looked for finally won out over other emotions and I managed to force myself to my feet. Gripping the bottle as if it were some ward against tears and thoughts, I mounted the stairs, feeling as if I might gasp at any moment.

I handed of the bottle and took the cup the two of them poured me.

Alwil had returned from dancing and came up to me, frowning slightly, “you look as if you might be sick. Lothíriel are you alright?”

“I'm fine Alwil, I think all the parties have simply finally caught up with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course.”

 

 

 

It was not difficult to make my appointed date with Éomer the next morning. Though I lay in the dark in my bed unmoving my eyes never closed that night. By morning they were red rimmed and dark circles stood out in my pale face as if I'd been struck. I rose and dressed with care, splashing water on my face and choosing my favorite riding gown, a dark blue made of a blend of silk and linen that was extravagant for riding but felt wonderful against the skin. I did my hair in a careful braid and then slipped out into the grey dawn light.

The walk down from the city seemed to pass before my eyes like an illusion that I only half saw. I cut through the paddock where my horse was being kept and found he was already there. Firefoot was saddled but he had not yet started on my mount. His breath misted in thecold morning air and he was dressed in a light cloak. He smiled when he saw me. “You're not dressed for a early ride, Lothíriel, it's almost autumn you know. Here let me give you my cloak.”

Since overhearing him and Éowyn the night before I had felt as if my body had been plunged into icy water and had taken no notice of the chilly morning air. I was dressed still as if it were summer in short sleeves. I let him take the cloak and lay it over my shoulders though it seemed to settle like a weight in the pit of my stomach. Even the pleasant smell of him on it, masculine and heady, only seemed to increase my misery.

As he slipped it over my shoulders though he came close enough to notice the expression on my face and the apparent lack of sleep and stopped short. “Lothiriel... are you unwell? You look troubled,” he said, voice suddenly sharp with concern.

I shook my head. “No my lord, it's only....”

“Let me take you to your aunt at once.”

I held up a hand. “Wait Éomer, there is something I must say.”

“What is it Lothíriel?”   
I swallowed. “I heard... that is I overheard what you said to your sister, about your plans to marry.”

For a moment he didn't seem to comprehend me, then his face hardened into an expression I'd never seen there before. He looked suddenly turned to stone, the usually hard line of his jaw tightening even further as if there was a spring beneath it suddenly wound far too tight. His normally flashing blue eyes seemed to dim unexpectedly, all the light and joy that I associated with him turning suddenly as cold. It was like watching storm clouds gather suddenly on a sunny day, so quickly did the light blue of his eyes seem to darken. My heart felt like a bird, fluttering against the walls of a cage, and I wanted to run suddenly. All that held me was his hand on my wrist, his grip suddenly like a vice. He did not hold me tightly, no bruise would mark my flesh, but I was sure that if I had tried to break his grip I would have found it as firm as stone.

“And what you heard did not bring you joy.”

It was not a question but a statement. But how could he ask? He must have seen my letter by now and known why I could never be truly happy for him and Nibeneth. I would try in my heart to wish them well but I would never be able to feel true joy for them.

“Éomer... that is... I cannot return to Edoras. I simply couldn't endure... a love that isn't returned is a burden to great to bear. I would spare you from the awkwardness of it.” I couldn't meet his eyes, nor form the full sentences I intended to speak.

His mouth was a fixed line. He took a moment before speaking again, as if considering his words carefully. “Of course, Lothíriel, I understand your decision. For myself I would bid you return, even this hurtle... I hope our friendship could overcome it however I understand if you feel differently.”

“I am sorry, my lord.” Two strong fingers went under my chin, lifting my face to his for a long moment. I couldn't breathe or think as I fought to make myself meet his gaze. I knew that if he were to ask me to return to Edoras I would not be strong enough to refuse and so, to my horror, I found myself begging. “Please, Éomer... do not ask it of me.”

He drew back his hand as if my flesh were suddenly a burning flame. “No, Lothíriel, of course not. I told you before... only what is freely given.”

I stumbled back from him, released and reeling.

Coward that I was, I turned and fled without a word.

 

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Drama, drama, drama! Well at least no one can say of this chapter that things aren't moving... somewhere! Please, please, please tell me what you think! I want to hear anything and everything you have to say. What do you think of Éomer's actions? Of Lothi's interpretation? What do you think/hope/dread will happen next? What do you think of the arc Alwil is on as well! Reviews are the wind beneath my writing wings I promise! As ever thanks so much to those who reviewed and LBJ who is an amazing, awesome, kick ass beta reader (more than I deserve) XO Spake


	15. Chapter 14

The last days of summer passed in a trice, giving way to a rainy fall that passed without much pain. Being back in Dol Almroth it seemed that Rohan had been little more than a dream. When I woke in the morning I was surprised to find myself back in my childhood bedchamber and it took a moment or two to remind myself where I was and how I had gotten back to what felt like the very beginning of a long journey. But I was able to keep myself from thinking of the more painful details of what had passed. The loss I felt was like the roaring of some river in my ears but at a distance, kept at bay by some part of me that didn't truly believe what had happened.

In my mind Éomer seemed always just around the corner. I would turn down the edge of book pages, intending to read to him from them later or find myself pouring out and extra cup of tea before realizing that he wasn't there. In some ways he seemed more present in my daily life than he had been in Edoras. The reality that I had torn myself way from him lingered as a hazy, never fully defined concept that I kept carefully at bay by not focusing too long or too intensely on it.

To think of him too directly, to invite myself to remember what I had hoped and how I had been disappointed was something I avoided with fervent determination. I had seen wounds fester before, developing a little pocket of inflammation and purulence hidden beneath the flesh. For the healing process to begin it was necessary to take a knife and open the skin over it to allow the pus to drain. But I had seen grown men wince back, pull away at the moment the knife touched their skin, hesitant to let it happen, the pain, or more probably the fear of the pain, trumping their sense. Now it was my turn to shy away from what I knew must be done, to face acute pain in the name of recovery.

I remembered a similar moment of grief after my mother's death when I had held within me the despair of loosing her like a nest for infection, letting it seep out slow poison but never rupture fully. It had taken Ivriniel's intervention to overcome. Like we sometimes had mothers hold the arm out of a resisting child so she had held me, in her own way, fast against the instinct to let sorrow suppurate.

But Ivrineil could not help me now. I was a grown woman, not a girl, and my love for Éomer was different than my love for my mother: complex and mature and something of which my Aunt had no experience. Besides, something in me rebelled at the idea of allowing my misery to dissipate. In some strange way it felt like the tight knot of pain just below my ribs, the tightness in my throat whenever I thought of him too clearly, was all that remained of him. If this were all I could have, a lingering pain that would last me to the end of my days, then I would guard it jealously.

The wound he had given me was one that I would never allow to heal.

Ivriniel spent the winter in Minas Tirith for the first time since my mother's passing. I visited her a number of times. My ability to ride lent me a new-found freedom as I could travel over the rocky winter roads with confidence, accompanied by a few Swan Knights from my father's house. But for me I chose to spend the winter at home, tending Ivriniel's garden, which had already sprung up with a number of the different plants I had brought back from Rohan. I had my father's craftsmen replicate something I'd seen in Meduseld, a clever little encasement of glass that kept in the heat even in the coldest of winter days and allowed the summer plants to grow all year round. My father was astounded when I was able to serve him fresh tomatoes, a favorite of his, on the day of the first frost.

Amrothos spent the winter with me in Dol Almroth. He and Elinior had a period of prescribed separation before they could be wed and he suffered it rather worse than I might have expected. It was strange to see my normally brash and uncomplicated brother take a rather morose mien while pining for his ladylove. He wrote her very long letters that he would fold up quite quickly if anyone approached his desk and hastily stuff into a drawer, blushing furiously. He went sailing or rode every day and exhausted himself at the training yard but still managed to look glum over his ale with dinner, gazing off wistfully. It would have been too cruel to laugh but more than once my father and I caught each other hiding a smile behind our napkins or pressing our lips together to keep back a giggle.

Ivineil snorted once in the library when my father mentioned how he'd caught Amrothos staring off into the sea by the docks the other day with the expression usually reserved for the wives of ship's captains known to have been in dangerous waters. “Oh, Imrahil that is fairly rich coming from you. You shouldn't forget that you read me most of the poetry you wrote Leiheth during your engagement. At least your son has the good sense to shove it in a drawer whenever there's a threat anyone could see it. You only stopped when I begged you to stop for fear that Findiulas might aspirate her own saliva and develop a putrid lung she was laughing so hard.”

My father blew out an indignant breath. “Ivriniel, I have no idea what you are recalling.”

I rode everyday with my father or Amrothos or even just by myself, wandering over the cliff tops of my childhood and seeing the place almost with fresh eyes. For the first time in many years I felt like myself in that place. My relationship with Ivriniel bloomed too in that winter. When I visited her in the city, or corresponded via letters, we had long discussions about different techniques I had seen or developed in Rohan. We collaborated on projects that she had dreamed up in my absence. We brewed a delicate little tincture meant for curing a chronic flux that took a week of constant supervision. We took twelve-hour shifts to watch the temperamental pot and then celebrated with a bottle of wine together on the parapets, laughing and exhausted and exulting in our success.

I had never seen Ivriniel partake in spirits and to my surprise she matched me sip for sip as the dawn broke over the White City.

I wrote Alwil long letters about my days and was relieved when she wrote back faithfully and with similar length. As ever, she had been right about whom we were to each other when she'd said that she would have written me back if we'd become friends that first summer. She wrote to me about arguments with Fracca over nothing, sent me samples of new plants the ladies of Edoras had taken to bringing her in my absence and the long quiet days as snow began to pile up. She wrote me about Wídwine and Gallen too. I had asked her to employ Gallen in my stead, to which she had adopted an expression of exasperation and informed me that she'd already drafted up terms of employment for her.

“Really Lothíriel you couldn't expect me to let such a girl go when I'm the first to know she's available.” She sighed. “It's not unscrupulous since I know you're leaving and can't make use of her.”

She also wrote exhaustively about her pregnancy. She detailed to me everything she found that she could eat (and ate to the point of obsession which included eggs, scones and apples) and surprised herself by becoming revolted by most sweets (going so far as to eschew the lemon cake which had long been a favorite). She wrote to me about the nausea, swollen feet, when the babe began to kick and how much. I sent her back a chest of herbs to treat her ailments.

The fact that she never once mentioned Éomer was almost as conspicuous as if his name had been on every line.

The day she had left Minas Tirith I had gone down with her to the stables and helped her saddle her horse. I had packed her saddlebags with the ginger tea and brought her some that very morning as she was still a little queasy. She sat on a saddle blanket drinking the tea and nibbling a piece of plain brown bread while I went about the business of getting her mount ready.

“I'm surprised you're not returning to Edoras with us.”

“With Amrothos gone and the project that Ivrineil sent me to do complete I'm afraid I have nothing more to tie me there,” I said, not meeting her expression.

I could feel her gaze on me like a physical force, like she sometimes brushed my hair back to give my visage a better frame. “Have you nothing more of interest to do in Edoras, truly?” she asked, a careful emphasis on each word.

I turned to face her. “Alwil I could not impose on your family to stay for any prolonged period of time, much as I will miss you.”

Her eyes were bright, searching. “I did not speak for myself Lothíriel, though you know how dear to me you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Is there no other in Edoras who you would return for?”

I swallowed and turned back to the horse. “No.” I had said quietly.

 

It was a cold winter morning when my father arrived from Minas Tirith with one such letter from Alwil. He found me lacing up my winter boots in the main hall, preparing for a ride. “You're riding out?” He'd asked.

“Yes.”

“I shall ride with you.”

We saddled our horses (he let the mount he'd rode in on rest and took a second from the stable) and rode out over the low scrub brush on the cliffs of Dol Almroth. The wind-swept sights and sounds of my childhood had seemed worth exploring since I had returned. In a new light I had walked over the familiar landscape and marveled at all there was to offer. I had never been exactly in my father’s confidence before. He had loved me to be sure but we had never really known each other. With my brothers he had the common interest of the sword and battle. With the girl I had been, bookish and retiring to the point of pain, he had had less to share or say. But since I had learned to ride at least we had this in common and it had opened up new warmth in our regard or at least a new way for him to express what he had perhaps always felt for me.

He and Amrothos had taken me on a four day journey to look for a mount of my own. The proposition that I might ride out with them and the old stablemaster for a few days of camping rough was taken without remark by Ivriniel and my other brothers. It was only me who seemed to marvel at how radically the view the world took of me had shifted in under a year. The Lothíriel who had arrived in Edoras in a carriage could scarcely have dreamed of being included in such an adventure. I was careful not to complain about anything: dirty hems, cold, hard ground beneath my bedroll, or eating stale bread for fear of loosing my place among them.

In the end I had selected a dark little mare with a single white fetlock who I named Beinalph. She was not from the most prestigious bloodline, nor was she the fastest but she had a fleet enough foot for me and I could tell that she had a gentle heart and not just good manners that would spoil with all the treats and special attention I intended to give her. She was always quick to lie down in the heather and rest with me, turning onto her side once I'd got the saddle off and letting me lean against her warm belly while I sketched for an hour or more if I desired. She was fierce enough to stand up for herself when Amrothos's stallion tried to bully her but with me she was all kindness and sweetness. She was smart too, never flinching back from a rope she thought was a snake, and she could if she wanted lift the latch of most paddocks.

I had sent Éomer a copy I had made of the book I had made on medicinal plants of Rohan. Ivriniel had a lad copy out the text for me but I had insisted on reproducing the drawings and diagrams myself. It had taken hours of course but almost as long did I dwell on what to write in the note to send with it. In the end I had agonized over no more than two sentences, wishing to find him in good health and asking him to very kindly include the text in the library at Edoras if he felt it worthy.

A week later the finest imaginable saddle had arrived with a note thanking me on behalf of the people of Rohan for my contribution to the library and all that I had done while I was in Edoras. The note (almost as brief as my own) had been immediately consigned to the fire, the saddle to storage almost as quickly. It was of rare quality, supple leather that was so soft and perfect it invited touch with insistence, and had a detailed, intricate and delicate pattern of flowers and horses that was surely representative of the finest leatherworkers in Rohan. Almost certainly it had been quite costly, a living heirloom. I was thankful it had been so easy to claim it was too fine to ever use.

My father and I rode for an hour or so before he shifted in his saddle. “We should turn back, Lothíriel or I'm afraid we won't be back before dark.”

“Yes, father.”

We turned back toward the keep, walking in companionable silence.

The two of us had suffered the most when my mother was taken from us. Elphir and Erchirion had been almost grown when she went to the veil and had families and lives of their own. They had mourned her to be sure but she had not been the central focus of their lives when she went. Amrothos was never the kind of boy to dwell on any sombre thing and had soon thrown himself into archery, battle and a thousand other things to distract and heal him. Our elder brothers had done the same. It was only my father and I had who had been shattered by it. And in those months I felt that we drew comfort from each other in a way that I had never expected.

I might have felt silly, mourning the loss of something I had never truly had in the first place. Éomer had never been mine to lose of course. But it wasn't just him that I was mourning. For one brief moment I had let myself believe that I might marry and have a family, something I had before put out of my mind as impossible. I had let myself imagine perfect little fingers, blond heads and inquisitive little eyes that might look out at the world with the curiosity of their mother and the courage of their father.

My new grief over the loss of Éomer and all that he represented was something my father understood, even if he did not know a name or details. He knew what loss was. He’d had my mother taken from him and he had never recovered from it. In my pain and sorrow his presence was a reassuring one. My father was not whole since my mother had gone but he did lead a rich life, still accomplished things, and still had hope and inspiration. He had found the strength to lift his sword against the foes of mankind in the final battle against Sauron. I vowed to myself that I too would not succumb to self-pity and let is consume me.

That day in particular we rode out over the cliffs for miles and more only to return as dusk was falling. We set a leisurely pace but one designed to tire us both. By the time we arrived back at the castle we were both spent and ready for dinner. We paused for a moment on a cliff top overlooking the keep of Dol Almroth. The horses would not approach the cliff's edge so we dismounted and went to sit at the edge together, watching the waves roll in beneath us.

“I am proud of you, for learning how to ride after all these years.”

“It was a skill hard won, but I do not regret it.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing by you, letting Ivriniel raise you as she did. I'm ashamed, when I think of it, that you did not know how to ride before going to Rohan.”

Riding though was not what he meant though he did not need to speak it plainly. He was speaking of course of the fact that I would never marry. Teaching me to mount a horse was a thing easily enough fixed but my age and lack of prospects would likely never be. Too late my family had begun to question if I would want children, if I would want a husband. But it was of little consequence. I knew that Éomer was the only man I would accept to my bed. Perhaps if I had been trained from a young age to be a different kind of woman I would have had a chance of being with him. But even that thought I rejected wholeheartedly. I loved Éomer as I was and as he was. I could even not wish to be a different woman— one that would not love him as I did.

“You need not worry, father, I have no regrets.”

“Perhaps I should have insisted that you be presented to society, been presented as a potential match to some young nobleman.” His brow creased. “It is not too late you know, Lothíriel. I could still find you a husband... if that is what you wish.”

I shook my head. Now that I knew what it was to meet a man who had aroused a passion I had never suspected in myself, how could I accept anything less? Without knowing the fire that Éomer had awakened in my body perhaps I could have accepted a loveless marriage, perhaps even rejoiced in it, but that possibility was now lost to me forever.

“No father. I do not think that I need a husband.”

From our vantage point it was I who noticed the rider approaching the castle. I'd seen many men ride like that before and knew what it meant. This was the desperate ride of someone looking for a healer. “Father we should return to the castle, I believe that someone is looking for my skills,” I said, indicating the streaking dot on a horse

He took me in his arms for a moment and pressed a fatherly kiss to my forehead. “I will always be proud of the work you do, daughter.”

We mounted our horses and turned back toward the castle. As we wound down the steep path to the keep I kept my eye on the rider. And was surprised when his hood fell back, revealing a cap of blond hair whipping about his head. It was highly unusual for a Gondorian to have blond hair and I knew of no Rohir who lived nearby. I was curious indeed to find out where this rider came from and spurred my horse down a little faster.

However as we got a little closer I recognized the rider, and saw that the exhausted horse was just hanging onto the bit. My slow trot became a full on gallop, careening down the path fast enough to make my father shout. “Lothíriel it's too fast! Slow down or you risk falling.” But I was confident in my skills as a rider and too panicked to listen.

I dashed through the gates and slid down off my horse, running all out toward the entrance. “Fraca! Fraca! What is it? What is wrong?” I shouted in Rohirric. I pushed open the doors to my father's hall and he was there, almost collapsed with fatigue in the arms of the steward, leaning heavily on the wall and looking as if he might drop any moment. The steward looked distressed as Fraca was braced between him and the stones, mumbling in Rohirric and looked quite filthy from the road. His cloak was stained with dirt and sweat and his eyes were wild and red-rimmed.

I went to him at once, putting my shoulder under his arm. “Help him to a chair!” I commanded. “He's going to loose consciousness.” Together we managed to stumble to the nearest sitting room and dump him into a chair.

“I don't need a chair,” he protested in Rohirric that was slurred with fatigue. “I need to get you to her! I need to get you to her and the baby!”

“Bring him some bread soaked in milk and water immediately.” I ordered, kneeling down next to his chair and reaching up to support him from falling out of it. The stench of him overwhelmed me. He was caked with dirt and the sweat of what must have been days of hard riding and fear. The pulse I found at his neck was racing but strong enough despite what must have been severe lack of water and food. Pressing my ear to his dirty chest his heart and lungs sounded intact.

My father came up the stairs, looking harried. “Lothíriel what in the name of Valar is the meaning of this? Who is this man and what possessed you to go scrambling down the cliff like that?”

“Fraca what's wrong with Alwil and the baby?” I asked, ignoring my father.

“Gallen says she'll convulse! She's had a headache for days and been seeing spots as well! Her aunt died from convulsions of confinement... she lost the baby too.” His voice broke into a sob. “Gallen told me to fetch you... that you would know what to do. Valar help me... I left her...” Frustrated tears spilled over onto his cheeks again.

“What is going on, Lothíriel?” My father asked as Fraca had spoken Rohirric and he was unable to understand it. “Who is this man?”

“My friend from Rohan, Lady Alwil. This is her husband. He says she's in trouble. I must leave at once.”

He frowned. “For Rohan? Your brothers are nowhere to be found. And I can't leave the seat to chaperon you to see a friend right now, daughter. I'm sorry for your friend but...”

I stood. “She'll need the baby to be brought forth now, before they both die. I will back ride to Edoras with Fraca as soon as it can be arranged.”

“Lothíriel I cannot allow you to...”

“I am not asking for your permission father. I am telling you what I intend to do.”

I had never before spoken to my father in that tone. I had never spoken to anyone in that tone. But never before had I been so certain of what I needed to do next. Alwil was in trouble and I would go to her at once. If my father were to lock me in my room to prevent me I was sure I would beat down the door with my fists rather than be prevented.

Something in the certainty of my tone must have been conveyed for he stopped short. He considered me for a second, the potential of any number of emotions crossing his face—anger, indignation, stunned disbelief but finally his features settled into an unexpected emotion: pride. I'd seen him proud of me before. Once when I was fifteen Amrothos had accidentally cut the arm of another boy in practice and he'd hit a mortal vessel. Blood had sprayed forth over them both at an alarming rate, stunning them both into inaction. My father had clamped his hand over the boy's forearm, stopping the burst of blood to a trickle and scooped him into his arms. “Get your sister!” Amrothos told me he had roared.

Ivriniel had been called out for the day so there was no one else to call for and I had never tended to such a wound as this before. But I hadn't hesitated. The boy was turning pale by the time I arrived on the blood-soaked sand of the practice circle. “Lay him down before he faints.” I'd commanded, already getting out needle and thread.

He'd lived, though his strength had taken months to return. When I'd pulled tight the last stitch, bloody fingers trembling and sat back on my heels to survey my work and my bloody gown I'd caught my father's gaze. “Good work, Lothi,” he'd said simply but his expression meant more to me then the world itself

“You'll need to take some of my swan-kights with you,” was all he said at the present moment.

I nodded and indicated Fraca. Who had issued another burst of Rohirric. “He rode straight here by the Dimholt Road and the Morthond Vale making it here in not much more than three days.I cannot deny it will take me a little more, maybe five days.We will need the fastest horses and spares. Fracas’s horse is nearly dead with exhaustion.

He nodded. “Leave it to me to make arrangements. Your friend must have a couple of hour’s sleep or he will most likely die too. I'll organise that and make sure food and blankets are packed and fresh clothes as well while you find whatever you need to bring.”

Fraca protested as he was led away by a servant at my father’s insistence. But his objections were overruled. Even the strongest warrior had to have some rest.

I kissed his cheek. “Thank you, father.”

I sprinted back to my room. The most important thing was to remind myself that this was the time I had to prepare. We would be leaving in less than two hours and in that time I needed to make sure I made the right decisions about what to take and prepare myself for the ordeal ahead. I might be a good rider but the prospect of five days in the saddle was not to be faced lightly. I threw open my bag and started putting things in for a birth, adding in what I would need if there was infection in the womb, the ointment of purified mineral earth I would need to persuade Alwil to eat for the convulsions, a formulation to help the lungs of a baby come to soon and purified fat to rub on his body to keep him warm if he were too small, all the while trying to think of any other possible complication I could encounter. Once we rode out, turning around for something I'd forgotten would not be an option and Alwil's life and the life of her baby depended on me.

After making sure I had everything I might need, including some salve for the inevitable sores I would have to endure, I put on fresh clothes, packed a small bag of spare stuff that would go into my saddlebags, and put my hair in a sensible braid. My maid brought me some food, which I forced myself to eat. When all was prepared I slung the bags over one shoulder and ran down to the stable yard. Three of my father’s men were waiting with their own and spare horses, and one strong gelding for me. Fraca arrived as I was supervising the loading of the healing supplies onto one of the spare mounts. He had bathed, eaten, and my father had dressed him in his own clothes with a fine cloak to keep him warm at night but despite that he still looked like a man on the brink of tumbling down. He gave me a confident smile however as a stable hand passed him the reins of a big, grey warhorse.

My fatherkissed my brow and helped me to mount before handing me a small parcel. “Your friend didn't eat much of the food we gave him. Cook put in some of the cheese she knows you like and the best of the salami to tempt you both. You can eat it without dismounting.”

I tried to look confident as well. “Thank you, father.” I gathered up the reins and with a nod to my escort touched my heels to my horse’s flanks and we were off. Conscious that my father was still watching I took the turn onto the main road, waved once, and set the horses off at the fastest pace I thought they could reasonably sustain. My knuckles turned white on the reins as we flew off down the road. Riding beside me Fraca looked out at the passing landscape with empty eyes and then turned to me.

“She is going to be fine,” I told him, wishing I felt the confidence I tried to infuse into the words. “I will know what to do when we get there.”

 

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Happy thanksgiving! This chapter is my thanksgiving present to all who celebrate it! Big, big, big thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I worked extra hard to get this chapter out early/on time as a special thanks to such a great response! And so as not to torture you all too long with fear that Lothi will die alone as whatever the ME equivalent of a cat lady is (though you know you all love the drama, don't even try to deny it). And even more importantly THANK YOU to Lady Bluejay, who did amazing work on this chapter! Seriously she helped me with a huge re-write of parts of it to make it more true to Middle Earth and the reality of horses (something which I know embarrassingly little about). I am always grateful to her but most particularly for this chapter which is infinitely better for her input.


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: mention of premature babies, babies passing away because of prematurity. A little bit of gore around childbirth.

Luck was with us and it was a cloudless night with a full moon, bright enough to make out the road clearly as we emerged from the Dwimorberg and passed into Dunharrow. It was near the darkest hour but Fraca knew a woman who would sell us bread, ale and sausages to revive us. She came sleepily to the door, looking worried and confused but seeing Fraca in the door with a host of swan-knights behind him was enough to revive her in less than a moment. Not for the first time was I glad my father has rethought and added a few more men to our escort. Reassured, she let us into what was surely a tavern in the light of day while she roused a boy to feed and water our horses. The narrow road down the winding road from Dunharrow to Edoras would be perilous despite the moon and even Fraca agreed that a rest beforehand was imperative.

The five days of riding were a confused blur of emotions and half remembered images. Fear for Alwil had overruled any other sensation I might have had and cast in the same hue that terrible moment where we had passed through the crevasse and into the Paths of the Dead as not much different from the pleasant ride up through the sunny vale of Morthond to the Blackroot.

My body remembered the ride with much more exquisite detail. Never before had I felt so tired. By the third day I was constantly trying to shift in my saddle to find some muscle that was not sore or protesting that I could call upon to keep me upright. By the forth I knew it was useless and simply set my mind to endure the agony.

Only the look on Fraca's face could induce me to get into the saddle by the end of it. The cold, empty look of fear and grief plastered across the brows of a man I had seen cheerful when riding to mortal peril was enough to strike my body numb and cold with fear. Numb enough indeed to ignore the protests of my raw thighs and trembling limbs to find the will to swing myself back on my horse.

Riding through the Dwimorberg had been easier than I anticipated. Indeed the dark paths we rode, eerie and wide and almost deserted, lit only by the torches of the men around me felt to be only the external reflection of my own internal state. I fixed my eyes on Fraca's torch and told myself to focus only on the next moment, the next turn in the road, the next break for the horses. And once that was met, I began the process again. When the front rider finally shouted out that he saw the road bending up again, back towards the starry sky above I could hardly believe it.

I came out into the air and the world of men just after Fraca and felt an unanticipated wave of invigoration wash over me. Below us Rohan spread like a snowy tapestry out as far as we could see. The white, snowy landscape meeting the deep blue sky above at the horizon seemed a miracle after so many hours in the grey dark of the Paths. In the very distance I imagined I could see Edoras at the base of the valley of Harrowdale. I would have expected myself to feel dread coming to the city again but instead I felt as if some great weight had been lifted from my chest and shoulders. I drew breath; truly it seemed for the first time since I had seen Fraca riding so desperately to Dol Almroth. Or had it been before that? Since I had left Éomer in the stables that morning in Minas Tirith or even since I had ridden out of Edoras for the festival at Pelennor?

My aching limbs seemed suddenly lighter and my breast, hollow with fear and dread only a moment ago, filled with a warm tranquillity and peace. Edoras was nearly in sight. Alwil was no more than a few hours ride. I glanced at Fraca and could tell he too felt a desperate relief within a short ride of his home.

“We will make it in time.” I told him in Rohirric. “I promise.”

He simply nodded, too overcome with emotion to speak.

After the break and food we remounted for the last leg of our long journey. My body protested greatly as I got back into the saddle but I was refreshed by the stop and the knowledge that the end in sight and I found I didn't mind so much.

The winding road clung to the steep cliff, and as we made our way down through Harrowdale we could see Edoras as a dark outline on the hillside with only a few glowing orange beacons from lamps in windows to distinguish it from an irregularly shaped mountain. I fixed my sight on it I let myself imagine that I could distinguish which lighted window was Alwil's and rode toward it with determination. The braziers cast their welcome from the high terrace, but against the sky I could see no standard showing and wondered if Éomer were at home.

We went single file down the narrow way. I rode in the middle where it was deemed the safest, and given the mount with the surest foot as well. There was some snow on the road but little ice and we'd bought half a dozen more torches from the woman in Dunharrow so the ride was nearly as easy as it might have been in daylight but for our fatigue.

Finally the road levelled off and we had reached the foot of the valley. Behind us loomed the Starkhorn. Before us loomed Edoras, only just out of reach beyond the great dikes that had been trenched from the Snowbourne as a layer of extra protection. Normally there was a lesser gate and drawbridge that faced Dunharrow to allow direct transmission of travellers and goods from the path into the city but this late at night the drawbridge was up, the guardhouse shuttered and the dikes too wide to shout across for the guards of the gate to lower it. We would need to pass around the walls of Edoras, to the main entrance.

Fraca pulled his horse back to speak to me. “Tell your guards it will take another hour to ride to the main gate but we can cross here over the ice and enter the city through the gate. They need not risk it but you and I should cross with two horses. The ice is thick enough to stand them crossing.”

The dike was indeed frozen solid with a thick sheet of glassy ice and though I shivered at the prospect of walking across it as I knew the water beneath was still deep and deadly. I called out to the head guard. “Fimmion!” The slender captain of my father's guards turned.

“Yes my lady.”

“Lord Fraca and I are to cross here, over the ice. You are to ride on to the main gate and cross over the bridge and then inquire there for directions as to Lord Fraca's residence.” I told him in the firmest voice I could muster. “When you arrive I'm sure they will be able to find you and your men lodgings in the city or nearby.”

To my surprise he only nodded. “I beg you to allow me to accompany you Lady Lothíriel. My men can ride on but I would stay with you, for the love I bear your father.”

“I thank you Fimmion, it will not be necessary.”

“As a favor to me my Lady, I beg you.”

I'd known Fimmion since I was a child. He was my father's own age, rather too old to be the guard captain. I knew my father had offered him a comfortable house with land not far from Dol Amroth but the man loved his vocation, loved the other swan- knights like the sons he had never had. And for all his years he was still a mean hand with a sword, still able to best most of the younger men under his command. He'd held up better than me during the five-day ride as well, seeming to take the long journey in stride despite his years.

I nodded. “As you are like an uncle to me Fimmion I cannot command you otherwise.”

His smile was warm. “Thank you, Lady.”

Fraca dismounted. “I'll take my horse across and then yours Lothíriel. Mark where I step for it will be safest if you cross alone. Your weight will not be enough to crack the ice if the horses pass safely.”

I nodded, heart pounding.

I studied the route that Fraca took carefully and indeed he passed easily over to the other side with first one horse and then the other.

The first step onto the ice the sound of it creaking beneath me made me sure it would fall away at any second but no cracks followed. I stepped carefully, putting my feet exactly in the footprints that Fraca had left in the thin layer of snow over the ice. The frozen river beneath me seemed to sing a song with each step but never did it scream or crumble beneath me. Fraca was waiting for me on the other side and held out his hand as I made the last step off the ice. I collapsed against his arm, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding, heart hammering in my chest.

“Well done, Lothíriel!” he murmured to me, holding me up bodily though he had endured much more than I had. “Brave lass! Brave woman of the Mark you are!”

Fimmion, despite having been raised in the Bay of Belfas and with little experience of ice or snow, crossed with more daring than I did, walking across the ice with a sure, swift step. When he joined us we mounted back up. Fimmion signalled to the rest of our guard that we were safe and to ride on. We swung back up into our saddles without even a word, Fraca was off up the hill with the two of us scrambling to keep up with him. We spent only a moment being identified at the gate, a few sharp words from Fraca and we were admitted and then clattering up the hill toward his home at an insane pace. In the shadows of the houses I was barely able to see the shape of Fraca and had no idea how he knew which streets to take or where we were in the dark.

The lights were on in the house I could see and we left our mounts in the street without bothering to tie them up or shout for anyone to tend them. The household was awake however and two boys ran out to catch the horses as soon as we came into the house. “My lord, she's convulsing again.” A maid sobbed as the two of us ran up the steps and ran down the hallway.

Fraca threw open the door and the sight that greeted us was enough to shake any fatigue and one the two of us would never forget. Alwil's physical form was on the bed dressed in her nightgown but our wife and friend was nowhere to be seen. The body of the woman on the bed shook rhythmically in an inhuman movement that seemed likely to break her back in the next moment. Her eyes were open but rolled back in her head, her huge belly thrusting up as her arms and legs convulsed. Gallen was on one side, imploring Wídwine not to hold her arm for fear of breaking it but only to make sure she didn't fall from the bed or hit her head on the thick wood of the headboard.

“Lothíriel!” Wídwine's voice was high with terror. “Oh, thank the Valar!”

I dropped to my knees and flipped open my box, frantically scrambling for what I needed. In a second I found the vial I wanted and was on the bed, with one hand pushing her lips apart? to open them and the other tilting back the vial to get the syrupy liquid through her clenched teeth. For a moment I held her head to my breast, keeping her mouth closed until I was sure that the syrup had gone down her throat.

Slowly her shaking began to cease and her body became still though her eyes still did not open. I stroked her brow in repose, watching for the rise and fall of her chest that told me that I hadn't given her too much milk of the poppy.

“Bema, Lothíriel, thank you.” Wídwine clasped my arm. “Thank you for coming.” Her voice was hoarse and her eyes were red from crying but fresh tears were already leaking through them. “Thank you for coming. Thank you and thank the Valar...” She babbled on.

“How long did her convulsion last?” I asked.

“No more than a minute lady,” Gallen supplied, her voice shaking. “She had a fit this morning that lasted a little longer.”

“Was this morning the first time she convulsed?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And was she herself between spells?”

“Yes, my lady.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. There was hope still. We had not come too late. I let go of Alwil's head and slid off the bed, going to the box of medicines I had left haphazardly on the floor. I knelt and began to take out the little trays, trailing my fingers over the different vials to find the ones I needed.

“You've seen this before?” Wídwine's voice was quiet.

“Fraca said she had a headache for several days?”  
“Yes. Gallen insisted we send for you.”

“Her urine was frothy for a week before the first convulsion.”

“Yes.” It was Gallen who answered me. She stood to one side, looking terrified and relieved that I had come all at once. She was holding onto Alwil's arm as if she would need to stop her convulsions again but held it loosely, afraid to hurt her.

I nodded. “She'll need to have the baby tonight. That was only a sedative to stop the current convulsion. The only cure is to separate mother from child.”

“But it isn't her time yet. She has another four weeks before she is expected,” Fraca broke in. The three of them stood at the head of the bed with Alwil as if to protect her from me and the tinctures I was selecting. The looks of relief that had come when Alwil had stopped shaking were now replaced with new horror at what I was proposing.

“The baby will be safer in the world than within her now. And as for her... it will kill her to keep the babe within her.”

Wídwine shook her head against the idea. “It's too soon to part them! She's only just in her eight moon.”

“It will kill them both if we do not, Wídwine.”

“And you can induce the baby to come?” Fraca asked.

“With your help, yes. She'll need to be encouraged to drink several teas when she wakes up enough to do so.”

I could see that Fraca had made up his mind. To save Alwil he would risk or endure anything. Wídwine though... she must have thought so much about the baby to come in the past months, longing for it as if she herself carried it. I could see in her eyes fear for her first grandchild. The love she bore the unnamed and unknown potential being within Alwil was almost as strong as the love of a mother and unlike Fraca she had a woman's knowledge of the terrible fates of babes born too soon. She had seen those infinitely precious, delicate little creatures that blinked into existence only just long to wrought into two the hearts of those that loved them, before they disappeared forever to the veil. Without asking I was sure that if I was to visit the resting place of Fraca's father I would find at least one smaller, well-mourned grave beside it.

“Will you help me, mother?” I asked her.

It was a manipulation of which I wasn't proud, to call her mother then. In the custom of the Mark I was allowed to invoke her as my own mother, to emphasize the bonds of love between us. To the Rohirric way of thinking as Alwil's close friend I was her sister and therefore Wídwine's daughter but I had never before called upon the privilege. Now though I used that love in a cold calculation, knowing she would find it hard to refuse me.

I had straightened my spine before my father what seemed like an eternity ago in Dol Amroth. _“I'm not asking for your permission father. I am telling you what I intend to do.”_ I had told him. The iron-clad certainty of my task had not been touched by the five days of hard riding. Gone was the usual Lothíriel, full of doubt and deference. She had melted away, like snow in the sun over some great carved rock, leaving behind an image of myself I had never seen before— a fierce woman, whose will I could trust against any obstacle. I would bring my friend and her babe safe through this at any cost.

Wídwine considered for a long moment, looking all of the sudden very tired and old. Her normally cheerful expression and bright eyes made her appear much younger than she was but in that dim room she suddenly appeared her own age or much older. If Fraca and I had little sleep on the road I could not imagine that Wídwine had had more here. She looked at her daughter-in-law on the bed, pale and unresponsive and then to me.

“Are you sure, daughter?” she replied. “Are you sure? This is the only way?”

I was already tying on my birthing apron and getting out cloths to be boiled. “I am sure.”

Then she nodded. To Gallen she said, “Go fetch several pots of boiling water, as many as Lady Lothíriel needs. Tell the girls downstairs to help you with anything you need and ask them to set to making us all a pot of tea and some toast to revive us for the night.” To Fraca she said. “If you need something to do you can help fetch and carry the water, my son but I don't think Alwil will want you back in the room for the rest of the night. This is a woman's battleground.”

Fraca nodded. “Let me at least say hello to her.”

“She won't wake for a while with the sedative I gave her. You can stay until she does and she starts to drink the tea,” I told him as I began to lay out what I would need.

We all averted our eyes as Fraca climbed into bed with her, sliding himself back against the headboard and then pulling her up between his legs so she lay against his chest. To see Fraca and his wife together in their marriage bed would normally be out of the question. But in this late hour and crisis the bonds or propriety had loosened like stays after a long revelry. Out of the corner of my eye I couldn't resist glancing at the intimate moment between them. She looked like a woman in a great tapestry, lying against her lover, the white sheets playing the role of some meadow behind them. He stroked her brow and whispered to her things too low for me to hear or understand in Rohirric. His mother brought him a cool cloth and he wiped her face and chest with it lovingly. She stirred a little to his ministrations and opened her eyes. “Fraca?”

“Alwil, beloved,” he said in Rohirric. He kissed her brow fervently, a sweet desperation that was painful to behold.

“You're back.”

“I came a soon as I could, dear heart.”

“That's good. You were gone so long.” Her brow was pale and sweaty but she smiled when he kissed her. I turned my face away as they embraced to give them some privacy.

“Only eight days my love. Only eight days. We rode as fast as we could for you.” He closed his eyes against tears and pressed his forehead to hers. “Bema I was so scared you would be gone to the veil when I got back.”

“No, I'm still here on Middle-earth with you. And wish always to remain so. I need to meet our son.”

He kissed her gently. “It might be a daughter, Alwil.”

She shook her head. “He might have been, but he isn't.”

“What will you name him?”

“I don't know yet. I think I shall have to see him first. Perhaps Lothíriel will help me when she arrives.”

“I'm here Alwil,” I said standing for a moment. “Remember? Fraca went to fetch me.”

“Ah yes, of course.” She smiled weakly. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. So rude of me to send for you so abruptly.”

I came and sat beside her, stroking back still-sweaty hair. “Very rude indeed, Alwil. And I intend to remind you of how rude it was for a very long time indeed.” I took her hand and she smiled.

“I shall endeavour to think of something to make it up to you.”

“I'm sure you will. But later.” I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Alwil we have to bring your baby into the world. His time has come.”

Her eyebrows shot up. She shook her head, turning it to one side and closing her eyes against my words. “No! No, Lothi it's too soon! He won't be strong enough.”

I shook my head. I didn't say what I wanted to say: _it's your only chance, it's the only way I can save you and keep you for myself._ That was true but I knew it would not persuade her. I had seen enough of Alwil's character, her love for Fraca, that I knew she would think only of protecting the fruit of her womb, the baby she had been imagining all these long months. Instead I said something that was equally true. “He won't live through many more convulsions, every one is a danger to him.”

“It is too soon! He won't...”

“You have to trust me Alwil. I will keep him safe.”

She clutched at my fingers. “Do you promise Lothíriel, promise he will be safe?”

“He will.” It was a promise I could not rightly make. It was in fate's hand more than my own but I knew it was what she needed to hear. I needed her to push, to want to bring her son into the world to give him the best chance of survival. _Safe at any cost,_ the woman of stone did not hesitate.

I brought out a viscous little oily tincture made from barley and the powder of rare pink salt that fishermen sometimes found along the shores of Dol Almroth and brought to Ivriniel and I for the coin we gave them. It would keep her from convulsing again without the sedative.

I returned to the fire to give them a few more minutes’ peace while Gallen brought in several kettles into which I threw a variety of herbs. The first tea I made was one to soften the passage for the baby, the second to induce contractions. But I also made preparations for when the baby was to come. The two most deadly things for a baby who came too early were their breathing and the cold. In the winter particularly the little ones were vulnerable to dying of cold. I made a little pot whose steam I might have the baby inhale if his breathing were truly bad when he first arrived. I set it aside to steep, planning to heat and reheat it throughout the night to increase its potency. I sent a boy to find two large, flat stones that could be heated in the fire and wrapped in blankets to warm the baby when it came. I bade the cook bring a large pot from the kitchen that could fit the stones in the bottom along with the blankets. As Alwil drank the two teas, never complaining how bitter they were, she watched as I practiced taking the stones from the fire and wrapping them up in blankets to fit them down into the bottom, then cover the top of the pot with a blanket. I reached my hand down into the pot and was satisfied by the warmth of it.

“You think he will fit in that pot?” she asked.

“He will be smaller then you expect this early along. He will need some extra support once he is away from you.”

She nodded. “Do you... do you really think he will live?” Her voice trembled.

“I've seen younger than him do so.” Though not very many if truth be told. Still I knew what I had told Wídwine was true, that the baby had a far better chance outside of Alwil than within her.

When I was done with my preparations for the baby and had laid the little pot beside the bed I came and sat next to Alwil. Already she was beginning to feel the first contractions and writhing a little uncomfortably on the bed with each one. I handed her another cup of tea, knowing it would make them more frequent and stronger but knowing too that she needed to have as fast a labour as possible. She took it and drunk it down without complaint or hesitation.

“Do you remember the mushroom necklace that burned my hands?” she said through gritted teeth as the next contraction hit.

“I do.”

“This is a thousand times worse than that.” she said with a small laugh.

And by then there was no use drinking anymore. She was rapidly approaching her time and each contraction seemed to plunge her under water, her eyes closing tight against the pain, mouth a thin line of misery pressed hard against a scream. Sometimes if a mother was in this much pain I would offer them something to ease it but I couldn't risk her being sedated when it came time to push. Besides her muscles were already tired from the convulsions and I was worried she would lack the strength even with all of her faculties.

But when it came time to bear down I found that I needn't have worried. The wild tenacity that made up the very core and trunk of Alwil in all her vicious glory did not desert her even in that dark hour. She was determined to have her son in the world with her and she found the strength despite what must have been days without sleep and in the throws of sickness and pain.

He came out into my arms, a squalling red little thing covered in the white of the womb and flailing little appendages against the injustice of coming so early and all that had been done. Alwil cried out for the first time in the night, reaching for him even though I had told it was best if she relinquished her right to hold him. Against all my instinct I withheld him from her and instead settled him on my own knees. His eyes were not open yet, in fact shut tight and wrinkled as he screamed and screamed. Into his wide-open mouth I dropped a few drops of the liquid I had brought to help his lungs. It was purified from the glands that sat atop of pig's kidneys and he recoiled at the bitterness of it. Then I smeared him in the purified fat I'd brought and swaddled him in a blanket before placing him in the little pot at his mother's bedside.

“Lothíriel... Lothíriel I want to see him.” Alwil sobbed. Her fists clenched in the bedsheets in the anguish of the moment and then stretched out toward the little body I held in my arms.

“You'll see him in a moment Alwil, for now we still have work to do.” She was bleeding briskly from below and her afterbirth still had not come. “You have to drink another cup of the tea.”

She nodded, still sobbing but not protesting as she drank what I gave her. The tea would help her muscles clamp down on the bleeding and cut it off, possibly saving her life. Another sob as another contraction hit but it did it's job, pushing out the afterbirth as I gently tugged on it. She smothered another scream at the pain of my hands on such tender flesh but she didn't try to push me away. Her knuckles where white on the bedspread but her lips pressed tight against another complaint bursting forth.

“Brave woman, brave woman, brave woman,” Wídwine repeated the words again and again like a chant, some spell to ward off the pain and danger. She took one of Alwil's hands from the bedspread and the two women clung to each other as if those twined fingers would keep them together on this side of the veil.

I had seen women whose blood refused to staunch and who soaked the birthing bed with their life's blood, no matter what intervention was taken. The fear of that gripped me at every birth. Losing any woman pass just as she's become a new mother was something that I carried with me for the rest of my life but Alwil... dear Alwil who had, in some ways been a mother to me, taught me things about womanhood, femininity, that no one else had. The thought of watching her pass to the veil, helpless to do anything to save her when I was the one who had caused her birth to come so fast, made my mind recoil back—as if the thought were a too-hot pan I'd touched by accident.

It was impossible to tell who those women would be and there was always a moment of sheer terror as I waited for blood to cease. But it was not to be Alwil's fate to die that night. Slowly, agonizingly slowly it seemed, the blood turned to a trickle, then no more came.

“Valar, I thank you.” I whispered to no one in particular as sound seemed to come back into the room. Alwil was panting and weak but as I reached for her the pulse at her wrist with one bloody hand I found it strong and reassuring.

“She is safe?” Wídwine asked me.

“The blood has stopped.”

“Bema bless you, Lothíriel.” Wídwine bent to kiss my brow and Alwil laughed a little choking, hysterical sound.

“Valar but I'm glad you're here Lothi.”

Wídwine helped me clean Alwil up and then the bed beneath her. We stripped away the sheets that had been put down so as to save the mattress and then put fresh ones on. I took off my bloody apron and put it aside, cleaning my hands thoroughly. Only as I was washing them in the basin, scrubbing away the blood with a soft brush did I realize how badly they were shaking. The numb fear that had suffused my body was beginning to recede, leaving me feeling hollow and overwrought.

I brought Alwil some tea to help bring in her milk and some cool water, managing to master my trembling hands long enough to pass it to her. I did not want her to know how scared I had been, but something in her expression made me think perhaps she already knew, knew as well as I did at least how close to the veil she had passed. She took the tea from my fingers but reached up and caught my wrist for a moment and I knew she could feel my pounding pulse and the faint trembling I couldn't suppress.

She looked up at me and I pressed my lips together, then nodded. _Yes, sister, you were close_.

She nodded back. “No need to trouble the others,” she said softly in Westron.

“No.” I agreed in the same language. “The danger has passed.”

She took my fingers in her own, gently, as she sipped the tea and I knew I was forgiven for the risk I had taken. I wanted to bend my head to her shoulder and cry into it, out of gratitude to her and the fates. Instead I stroked the pale hand in my own softly, reassuring myself that it was still a warm and living thing.

I offered her some milk of the poppy but she shook her head. Her hair was soaked and wild and her face was pale from the loss of blood and tear-stained.

“Would you like to meet your son then?” I asked. “We can take him out for a moment to see if he will nurse yet.”

She nodded, tears flowing afresh as I stroked her hair. “I don't want to hurt him. If he must stay in there I will understand Lothíriel... I just want...just want to keep him safe... no matter what that means...”

“We will need to take him out to feed him. We'll get some blankets I've been warming over the fire to keep him warm enough while he's with you.”

I arranged the blankets around her and then brought out the little bundle and gave him to his mother. She put him to his breast and despite his young age he latched immediately and began to suck greedily, a very good sign. “You won't have much for the first few days but he won't need much either. As he grows you'll make what he needs.”

But she wasn't paying attention to me. She was lost in the awe of looking at her son. Wídwine came to sit beside her on the edge of the bed, gazing down at the new life as well. I slid off the bed and went to get Fraca. I opened the door and almost started back, finding him leaning against the door, both hands braced on the jamb, head down against the heavy wood as if he were preventing himself by opening the door only by holding on. His knuckles were white against the wood but he looked up when he heard it swing open. “You have a son.” I took him by the hand, leading him into the room.

He came to the bed on the other side and it was a moment that fixed itself within my memory for a lifetime. Alwil sat in the middle with the baby to her breast, Wídwine to one side and Fraca to the other, all of them gazing down into the nest of blankets I had made, falling deeply in love with the little creature she held.

“What is his name?” Fraca asked.

“Dorn,” she said. “After your father.”

Wídwine's smile could have lit the room but she said nothing, only stroked the baby's cheek.

“Do we have to put him back soon, Lothíriel?” Alwil asked, looking up to me where I sat on the edge of the bed.

“Not just yet,” I said. “I think he's still warm enough.”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Well a huge thanks to LBJ as always (she is honestly a miracle in my life) and to everyone who reviewed! Honestly I was overwhelmed with the response to the last chapter and so very happy that I had the time over the weekend to get this one out to you! I hope you enjoy reading it and I hope you're reassured that I'm no so heartless as to kill poor Alwil! I can say this now with no hint of spoilers but I would never do that to Alwil (or you)! Next chapter who do you think reappears on our stage? Please leave me lots of reviews, I read them all at least twice and they warm my heart, my mind and my desire to write! XO Spake


	17. Chapter 16

For the next month Alwil didn't sleep alone. Wídwine, Gallen and I took turns sleeping next to her to help her with Dorn who required quite a bit more care than the average newborn. He stayed mostly in the pot with the rocks constantly needing to be changed and the temperature always needing to be checked. Too hot or too cold, either could be fatal to him. As I had feared he did struggle to breathe and needed to be held and patted from behind or induced to breathe in the steam of the tea I brewed to calm him down. With the exception of Alwil each of us in the house broke down crying at least daily from fatigue and fear. Sometimes two might cry at once, leaving the other with three squalling beings to tend.

Fraca did not cry but his jaw was clenched so tight some days it was a wonder he could speak. He was most affected when he felt that Dorn couldn't breathe and feared constantly that either too little was being done to help his lungs or too much was and we were waking him too frequently. Wídwine, Gallen and I simply cried when we were exhausted. Only Alwil appeared to be immune from fatigue or tears. Having lived through the birth she seemed to think things could only improve from there and accepted everything with a serene calm that kept the rest of us from completely loosing our own.

Of course Alwil also required help healing. After loosing so much blood her own breath was difficult to draw and she could hardly walk ten paces across the room without having to stop to catch it. Also she became woozy when standing still. She surprised me though by how docile a patient she proved to be. In her youth keeping her in chamomile bandages had been a real chore. But now with Dorn in the world and needing her protection she took any medicine with cheer, any prescription for behaviour she followed to the letter. Fraca brought her rare strips of beef at all hours as I had told him it would help replenish her own blood and she ate them without complaint with breakfast as easily as she did in the evening. The bitter tinctures I gave her to prevent her womb bleeding again she took with equal equanimity.

And like all new mothers, she healed with surprising rapidity. Within a week the rose had bloomed again in her cheeks and she could stand and walk without complaint. The ill effects of the birth would be nothing more than a bitter memory for her.

Then one morning I woke next to her and found that she was peering over the edge of the bed and looking down into the little pot where her son slept. “Listen, Lothíriel,” she said quietly when she noticed my eyes were open. I crawled over so we were side-by-side in the bed, staring down at the babe in the pot.

“Listen for what?” I said, still muddled with sleep.

“Exactly. His breathing is so quiet, like a baby's should be.”

I rubbed my eyes. “You're right.”

“I've been lying here for hours listening to it.”

“It's a nice sound.”

“Today would have been the day he was meant to come.”

I grinned. “I'd forgotten.”

“I haven't been out of this room in a month.”

“I haven't been outside the house in a month. But believe me you're not missing much in the sitting room.”

“Do you think he can come out of the pot today?”

“We could try. I'm not sure honestly.”

“Let's bundle him up and take him down by the fire.”

“Alright.”

When Fraca came back from errands in the city later that morning to find us in the parlour, playing with Dorn on the floor he almost shouted with joy. Dorn was still kept close to the fire and on warm skin that his father had hunted but the simple act of leaving the bed, the pot, felt like a real victory. He came to kneel next to us, scooping up his son proudly and cuddling him to his breast.

“We should celebrate!” Fraca announced. “Let me go out and purchase some mead and delicacies to tempt you both.”

I leaped to my feet, not wanting to disturb the domestic picture. Fraca and Alwil and Dorn had had so little time on their own it seemed imperative that I shouldn’t disrupt it. “Let me go, I know the exact mead shop that sells what I'm most craving. I don't trust anyone to know it exactly but me.”

Before Fraca could insist on going himself I was pulling on my boots and a heavy cloak and out the door. I felt extraordinarily good as I stretched my legs for the first time. The air was bitterly cold and Edoras was covered in a blanket of snow that sometimes made it difficult to walk. Still I was pleased to be in the fresh air and took the longest possible route to the merchant I had in mind, then spending an age picking out a bottle and some cheese and sausage to go with it at the shop next door. I tucked the lot into my basket and was just heading home when as shout came from across the street.

“Lothíriel!”

I turned and to my surprise saw Etan waving at me from the door of a shop across the road. He crossed the road and caught up with me, taking my basket and my arm. “Hello, my dear, where are you headed? And where have you been? Éomer that rascal didn't tell me you'd returned.”

I blushed. “I'm not... that is I'm not sure if he knows I'm back.” I was babbling, remembering the time Éomer had taken Amrothos and me to stay with his friend. The time he had asked us to go to the tournament with him. “I came back in the middle of the night to help a friend with... a personal issue as it were. I've been with them ever since. In fact I've only just stepped out to get some wine and delicacies to help celebrate the first step toward recovery.”

“You mean Lady Alwil I assume?” he said with a furrowed brow. “Wídwine said that she had a difficult birth and both she and the baby almost didn't make it.” He laughed at my shocked look. “Oh yes, I'd forgotten Gondorians are frightfully squeamish and discreet around the topics of the birthing bed. But Wídwine and I are old friends and I take an interest in Fraca and his wife so of course I wrote when I'd heard nothing from her in a month. I'm surprised she didn't mention you by name though when he wrote, since she knows we know each other.”

“She must have forgotten we do. She's been doing a lot recently of course.”

In reality Wídwine must have guessed or Alwil must have told her something of what she suspected had happened between me and Éomer for it seemed now likely she'd been very discreet indeed that I'd been in town at all. In my heart I blessed her greatly and wondered at my own stupidity for insisting on simply walking out of the door. Running into Etan was a stroke of bad luck but even just by walking about I was sure to be remarked upon. How long would it take for someone to tell Éomer that I was in Edoras? Not that it mattered. He was hardly likely to seek me out given the way we had parted. But still, I didn't want him to know that I was close. It felt too easy to misconstrue it as chasing after him. What if he were to mistake my intention, or worse feel obliged to visit me at Alwil's home?

“Of course,” he said but gave me such a strange, appraising look I knew he suspected more.

“Come and greet them both. We're celebrating today and you can meet Dorn.”

“I should be honoured to be included!”

So he came and entertained Wídwine while Alwil, Fraca and I lay on the parlor floor like children, each eager to dandle Dorn as much as possible until finally Alwil had to put him back into the little nest of furs for fear we would tire him out too much. Alwil leaned against the couch, one hand's fingers tangled in Fraca's and the other holding a glass of mead.

She titled her head back with a smile, her eyes closed. “Who knew I could be so happy?”

The heat from the fire rolled over us like a calming wave and I could hear Dorn's soft breathing as he slept in his furs, the most comforting sound in the world for the three of us at present. The bliss of my two friends, new parents and overjoyed, was such a sweet relief in my breast as to almost cause pain. The perfection of their happiness so sublime as to be difficult to regard for those of us outside of it. But for me this perfect moment was tinged with a whisper of foreboding. Etan's hearty laugh in the background as he joked with Wídwine was a welcome and merry sound. But I dreaded the idea that Éomer might soon know I was back in Rohan.

 

 

 

 

 

The next week Wídwine announced that it was time for Dorn to be presented to the court of Edoras. Traditionally these celebrations of a new life were held a week or two after the babe was born, when it was deemed that the baby was strong enough and was not likely be carried away to the veil but in Dorn's case the surety had been late to come. She announced it at breakfast one morning when Dorn had come down to sit on his mother's lap and mine, alternately passed between the two of us.

“Dorn's introduction should be in the next week. Lothíriel will help me, Alwil, you needn't trouble yourself.”

Alwil scoffed. “Lothíriel has never planned a party in her life. And I'm not a cripple you know, I would be happy to help.”

“Lothíriel may need to be throwing parties of her own in the future. And you are not back to your usual self. It will be the two of us who will arrange it.”

Alwil considered that for a moment, and then nodded. “Perhaps you're right.”

And so it fell to me to do what Alwil normally would. I was surprised how much I enjoyed it. Training with Ivriniel had prepared me well for this type of task, which required nothing more it seemed then very careful planning and meticulous execution. I wrote down a long list of all we needed to do and then systematically ticked it off in preparation for the day, much as I might for any medicinal formulation I was preparing to brew. I was equally pleased and astonished by the manifestation of what Wídwine and I had sat down to decide more than a week ago as merchants arrived with pastries, sweet and savoury, cheese, bread, cooked joints of meat, ale, mead and all sorts of other things that were needed along with the enormous outpouring from our own kitchen.

The party was to be held in the afternoon and then carry on into the evening. This would allow Dorn to be shown off to all and sundry (inside his mother insisted, and close to the fire in case he caught cold) and then to be put to bed for the adults to enjoy the rest of the evening. We hired a few extra maids from friends of Wídwine's gracious enough to lend us their services for the afternoon. The decorations we found at the same tailor that Alwil had taken me to for my first proper dress.

All in all I was overwhelmingly pleased with our efforts as the first guests began to arrive. Dorn was in high good spirits, snuggled up in a mess of blankets by the fire and giggling with his father, though at what neither but the two of them knew. Having no natural skill with a needle myself, apart from when it came to sowing flesh, I had written to my father for some extra money to buy the new baby a gift from our family. He had replied handsomely and I had frittered it away on an assortment of warm clothes and toys. He was dressed in a fur-lined little cap that and suit that I had commissioned for him.

Someday when he was a grown man I imagined that he might wonder why his mother and I were always pleading with him to be careful in the cold. He wouldn't understand the torment that we had all been through the first days of his life when we'd needed to watch his temperature and put him in a pot, every hour sticking our hands into it to make sure that it wasn't too hot or too cold for him.

But how often would he and I meet when he was a grown man? The thought came to me unbidden. Soon I would run out of excuses to stay in Edoras and wouldneed to return to Dol Amroth. There was nothing compromising about staying with Alwil and Fraca. We had established a close enough connection that she and Wídwine were more than enough to serve as chaperon for me in the court of Edoras. The guards who had brought me had departed almost as soon as they were rested, bearing a letter that I translated from Wídwine with her great thanks to my father for sparing his daughter and begging leave to keep me until I deemed my work was done. My father had written a very gracious letter back saying I was missed but he would not expect me back until I was entirely satisfied. I could perhaps delay a bit, but once Dorn was healthy and hale there would be no reason for me to remain. I would return to Dol Amroth and once again the happiness I felt in Rohan would begin to feel like a dream.

With that melancholy thought hanging over my head I dressed for the party, determined to make the most of it. If I were to only see Dorn in snatches over the years at least I would make sure that he remembered me fondly. Whatever came I intended to at least spoil him from afar and Alwil was sure to return to Gondor intermittently throughout the years, time enough to steal him away for whatever adventures I could dream up for him. Already I could imagine that the shy and bookish friend of his mother would have a difficult time impressing any son of Fraca's. Taking him to a surgery I felt might do the trick perhaps, teaching him to hold back the flesh while I sowed it might be enough to set me apart from all the other adults in his life. When he was grown perhaps I could teach him enough to save a friend in battle by learning to sow a wound or at least bandage it properly.

Alwil stood in the entrance with Dorn in her arms greeting our guests with Fraca. Wídwine and I sat on a couch in the parlour, enjoying a glass of the best mead and the other fruits of our labour. “Thank you for teaching me all that you did for this party.” I told her sincerely.

She considered me for a long moment. “You may one day need it.”

“I suppose any woman should know how to throw a party.”

“You most particularly.”

I laughed. “You imagine I will be throwing parties for the herbs I collect? They're hardly likely to notice if the decorations aren’t as they should be. I'm afraid your teaching is wasted on me, Wídwine, much as I do appreciate it.”

She cupped my chin with one hand. “Perhaps, beloved one.” We'd grown quite close in the past month as we'd nursed her grandson to safety and she'd taken to calling me with this affectionate Rohirric name, something like a mix of sweetie and beloved.

I couldn't fathom what she meant. “Wídwine you know... what my prospects are.”

“I know what you think they are,” she replied. “Now off you go and make sure that the table in the back parlour doesn’t need to be replenished.”

It was difficult to make my way to the back parlour. The house was packed with people and I was pleased to note that all of them seemed content with their food and drink. Quite drunk men were flirting with young women and, in several cases, the other way around.

I made my way to the table where we had arranged for food and drink and was pleased to note that, though the guests were doing their best to deplete the stores we'd laid in, so far they were holding. I held out my wine glass and it was immediately filled.

I raised the glass to my lips and was taking a drink when a voice from behind me froze me in my tracks. “Lothíriel.”

With an enormous force of will I forced myself not to whirl but to turn slowly. “Hello, Éomer.”

Wídwine had told me that he was in the Westfold fighting the Dunlendings and wouldn't be back in Edoras for another week or more but clearly her information had been incomplete, for here he was, standing before me in flesh and blood.

He looked tired. He'd clearly been riding hard for the past few weeks, if not more. The usual power was still there in his arms and shoulders but there was a new leanness to him that I heartily disliked.

He'd been hurt too. Normally Éomer wore his sword on his right hip. I'd seen him fight well enough with either hand but he usually favoured his left, a childhood predilection I suspected as I'd seen him write with his left as well. In addition it gave him advantage over the majority of men who fought with their right. But now the sword hung on his left hip and he was holding his cup of mead with his right hand, meaning he intended to draw with his right hand if he needed to.

The sight of him after so long made my heart race and pound against my ribs.

Despite the clear fatigue, the remnants of battle, his presence was the same powerful and commanding force pressing on my own consciousness that I remembered. The man who stood before me was one who songs had been written about, would be written about, for generations. The power in his hands, arms, legs and frame had turned the tide of Pelennor. It seemed impossible to stand in his scrutiny. And yet... I wanted to reach out, to take his hand in mine and lead him to some quiet place where he could rest. The urge to caress the dark circles under his eyes was nearly overwhelming. I could imagine so clearly laying his head on the pillow of my lap and stroking those long locks as he drifted off to sleep, watching his breath slow and deepen as he relaxed his grip on the world.

The Lion of Rohan was also the man who had lifted me onto the back of his horse to take me to a woman in peril on only the word of myself and Gallen; who had taught me how to ride with unending patience; who had jumped onto the back of a running horse to rescue me and whose smile made my heart leap with joy...

_A man set to marry another_ , I reminded myself. _A man who knows you love him and does not love you in return._

I curtsied as best I could, trying not to tremble visibly. “My lord, it is a pleasure to see you.”

“You're back in Edoras.”

“I... that is... I came only for a short time.”

He looked me up and down for a long minute before deciding his course of action. I wore a dress that belonged to Alwil but both of us had had little appetite or time to eat in the last month. We had been of a size but now all her wardrobe was loose and over-sized on us. The dress hung off my shoulders and wrinkled with extra fabric at the waist and hips. I had added a large and ornate bow at the small of my back, a sad attempt to make it look as though it fit me still. I'd taken a shawl from her closet for just this occasion and pulled it around my shoulders in a self-conscious gesture.

“How long have you been here?”

“A little more than a month.”

“You've been staying with Alwil?”

“Yes.”

“I heard the birth was difficult, I should have guessed she'd call you. You've been helping Wídwine?”

I nodded, eagerly snatching at an insane idea “Yes, in fact you must excuse me. I think we're running low on mead. I must go to the vintner before we run out.”

And with that I practically fled back through the corridor and to the entrance hall. Fraca and Alwil had joined Wídwine in playing with Dorn in the parlour, the guests having all mostly arrived but Alwil noticed as I dashed by the door on my way to the hall. “Where are you going?” she asked when she found me pulling on my cloak in the hall.

“The mead is almost finished, I shan't be long. I'll just go get some more.”

“Lothíriel stop!” She called after me but I was already out the door and practically running up the frozen street.

It was snowing again, light powdery mist from the sky that accumulated without really wetting anything. But I hadn't taken the time to change into my winter boots and almost immediately the thin slippers were sodden and my toes began to ache with the cold. I was shaking almost uncontrollably by the time I made it to the street where the vintner's shop was. A dark window told me that I'd come in vain.

I closed my eyes against the humiliation and the cold. To return empty handed after leaving so abruptly... to return and face him was almost unbearable. I stood frozen and shivering hard for a long moment. The street was completely deserted and through the window of the house I faced I could see a rosy and crackling fire. It occurred to me to go to ask the family if I could rest a little by their fire and the pathetic nature of the thought was enough to overwhelm me. Valar, but I was so cold I didn't know how I would walk back to Alwil's residence.

Self-pity welled as tears in my eyes, flowing down my cheeks and dripping off my chin to freeze in the snow.

“Lothíriel.”

For the second time that night I turned, knowing who had said my name. I frantically wiped away the tears in my eyes with the back of my hand, hoping he would think it was only the cold. “My lord, I'm sorry I...”

Without waiting to hear what I would say next Éomer bent and lifted me to his chest, one arm beneath my knees and the other around my shoulders. The sudden, unexpected act made me gasp, a puff of warm air that fogged in front of me. “Éomer what are you doing?”

I was glad indeed that the snowy night and dark of the streets meant we were unlikely to be seen by anyone in such an attitude.

“You aren't dressed for this weather. And no vintner is going to be open at this time on a night like this. I'm taking you to Etan's residence in the city, it's just nearby and they'll have a fire to warm you.”

“I can walk, my lord.”

He misunderstood my protest. “You haven't got on anything like the proper shoes for the snow. Besides my armour weighs more than you do, Lothíriel. Bema you're skin and bones. Haven't you been eating? Hasn't Wídwine been feeding you?”

To his point the extra weight in his arms hardly seemed to slow him down, nor did the light snow. But that was not why I wanted to be let down from his arms. I had let my head lean against his chest in fatigue and chill. This close, even in the chill air, the familiar smell of him – leather, hay and heat, seemed to amplify and increase the already heady feeling of the mead I'd drunk. I had been so consumed with preparing for the party that I hadn't eaten much that day and the drink had gone straight to my head making me feel suddenly woozy and faint.

“It's only... I don't mean to trouble you.”  
“I will always rescue you, Lothíriel.” He didn't meet my eyes as he said it though he usually did, and something about the words made my heart feel like it was compressed by a cold and unforgiving hand.

He made good time through the few streets down to Etan's home in Edoras. It was a stately manner with two guards at the gate into the garden. One swung the door open instantly for Éomer while the other ran to open the door for us. “Stoke the fire and tell the cook we've come and need a meal, something to warm the lady. Whatever she has in the kitchen that's most nourishing is fine,” he told them in Rohirric.

They ran to do as he bid and he deposited me in the seat closest to the fire, stripping off my cloak, which had taken the chill, and then bending to take off my shoes. I hurried to take them off before he could, mortified that he should think to do it for me. I moved to cover my feet with a fur from a nearby seat but he shook his head. “Never mind propriety, Lothíriel, I won't look at your legs. And they'll warm faster if you don't cover them.”

Knowing he was right I drew back the fur and stretched my toes toward the flames. Already I could feel a painful, prickling numbness spreading across them, which I knew meant that I had risked real damage in my ill-advised jaunt in the snow. I would be lucky indeed if they didn't swell and blister in the coming days.

He turned then and went to a tray of bottles on a table and poured two glasses. He handed me one and then came to sit across from me, leaning forward with elbows on knees and peering into my face.

“Thank you, my lord... for coming after me. I'm not sure what I was thinking going out in the snow like that without proper shoes.” I tried to smile. “Not the first time you've had to rescue me, but I truly hope the last.”

He didn't take any notice of my attempt at a light conversation. “Though I wish it hadn't required you to risk your feet for the occasion I am glad to have a moment to speak plainly to you, Lothíriel.”

I swallowed. “You may request an audience with me at any time, my lord. It is not for the likes of me to refuse to see the King of Rohan.”

“It is not the King of Rohan who wishes to speak to you.”

“Éomer, I...” I began.

He did not seem to wish to hear the end of my sentence for as I paused to search for what to say he spoke. “You must know that it wasn't my intention to put you in an awkward position when we spoke on the Pelennor. Far less so to make it more difficult for you to return to Rohan.”

I couldn't meet his eyes. The memory of that time seemed to rise up into my senses until I could feel the gall churning in my stomach: humiliation and regret twining together like twin vipers in my abdomen. “No, my lord, of course not,” was all I could manage.

“I would have told you so before you left if only I'd known you would be leaving so abruptly...” he trailed off and then squared his shoulders as if he thought that were some kind of excuse, unworthy of his honour. “I should have written to say so. But I didn't know if it would be welcome.”

I twisted my fingers in my lap, still unable to meet his gaze.

“I want us to be friends again, Lothíriel... to whatever extent that is possible.”

Now I glanced up at him sharply and was again overwhelmed at the power he held over me. Without lifting a finger he could paralyze me, with a gaze have me breathless and with a word he could make me act so profoundly against my own better judgment. The rational part of me knew that friendship with Éomer would be a devastating proposition. In an old Elven legend there was a story about a man punished for gluttony by a magic that made the water or wine in his cup recede from him when he tried to take a sip. Being with Éomer would be that same kind of agony, a thirst always with relief just in sight but impossible to obtain.

How could he ask it of me? How could he ask me to endure such torment? But perhaps he couldn't imagine that I felt so strongly. A woman like me would never be perceived as passionate: contained was just another word for cold when it came to young ladies. He might imagine that he had wounded my pride or frustrated a girlish crush but if he had understood the depth of my feelings, he was honourable enough not to have asked me to endure his friendship.

An impossible trap I found myself in then, for I could not refuse his friendship without explaining how much I loved him, how much more than brotherly affection I wanted from him.

“Yes of course, my lord.”

To my surprise, he looked almost apprehensive, as close perhaps as Éomer ever got to the emotion. “Do you truly mean it?”

“Yes.”

Whatever he asked for, I would give. The price of my pride and the torment of being near him was one I would gladly pay. Even the thought of being close to him again, to be able to ride with him again and hear his voice was already something I craved.

A maid came in with a tray of tea and two bowls of a rich stew. The broth was a shimmer of fat thickened with flower and generous with thick-cut, root vegetables and venison. Looking at it suddenly I was starving. The girl put the two bowls between us as well as two halves of a thick and hardy looking loaf of bread. It had been warmed in the oven and there was a generous helping of salted butter spread over each.

“Find a pair of Lady Hema's boots for Lady Lothíriel to borrow on the walk back.” Éomer told her once she was done arranging the plates for us.

“Who is Lady Hema?” I couldn't help but ask once the girl had retreated.

“She was Etan's daughter... not his heir, though he had loved her mother and he claimed her openly. She died when she was sixteen.”

“How?” As a healer I had long stopped being delicate around such questions. Most people took it as a professional interest and rarely took offense.

“A fever took her.”

I didn't have to be told to dig into the soup but rather began to spoon it down gratefully. The hot broth and the cloudy feeling of the wine had relieved the sharp cold of exposure but as it left a new, deeper cold crept in. If I had stayed in Dol Amroth perhaps my feelings would have faded eventually like a flame starved of new wood to burn it would have died down to something smouldering. But if we were to see each other again how could I stop it from blooming again into the inferno it had been?

He had asked me to live in torment and longing for the rest of my days. And I had agreed, for nothing more than the price of him asking.

“I am sorry, my lord... for my part of what passed between us at the celebrations on the Pelennor Fields.” I finally managed. “A nobler woman might not have fled the battlefield so obviously. I suppose at the time I told myself it was only to spare you any awkwardness but I think an objective observer might point out that it spared me as well.”

His expression was impossible to read, almost tender. His voice, when he spoke, very soft, almost like a tender hand caressing my cheek. “We need not speak of that again, Lothíriel. Now that we've decided to be friends you need not worry that I shall bring it up.”

When the boots were brought and Éomer was satisfied that I'd eaten enough soup he stood. “Come, I shall have to sneak back into Wídwine's house so as not to raise a scandal.” He laughed at my expression. “We've been gone too long in dark streets to return to the party together.”

“Sneak back in?”

“There's a path through the back garden to the back parlour. I'll go that way and you can go back in through the front door. It wouldn't do for us to return together.”

We walked in companionable silence through the still winter night back to Wídwine's. Music had started inside and the house seemed alive with warmth and music, warm light seeming to pour from the cracks in every window, shuttered as they were against the cold. But instead of going in the front door Éomer considered me for a second, then took my hand and brought cold fingers to soft warm lips. Then he turned down a dark little alley between the nearest house. I watched him until he reached what seemed to be his destination, then he stepped up onto an irregular stone that jutted from the wall, jumped and pushed with his good hand and made it over the wall with seemingly little effort despite his injured left arm.

Then I turned and slipped back into the party. I hung up my coat and went to find Alwil in the parlour. “The vintner was closed.” I said simply.

“So I presumed. I can't imagine why you thought they would be otherwise. It's a wonder you didn't freeze to death out there.” She looked at me expectantly for a moment, searching my face but when I made no further remark she only nodded. “I'm just glad you're back by the fire. Come warm yourself a little bit. And, Lothíriel, please don't go out again.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Yay Éomer is back! Boo they're still incredibly thick and working just as hard as they can to misunderstand each other! Lol but you guys know you love the drama and how cute it is that they want to be friends even though they don't think the other one loves them back. Besides, what would even be the point if they didn't make us sweat for it right? Anyway... Wow you guys were SO unbelievably kind about the last chapter. Thank you so very, very much! I read every one of those reviews at least twice, the longer ones it seems like I read a million times over! Please be as kind to this chapter and I will try to keep posting them as quick as I can now that we're in the build up to the climax! Huge thanks as always to Lady Bluejay, she's the BEST! XO Jess


	18. Chapter 17

News that I was back in Edoras had spread and I was being called to attend births again, which meant I had only taken to my bed in the hour before dawn. Not surprisingly I'd fallen asleep on the skins in the parlour by the fire with Dorn after offering to watch him while Alwil and Fraca went riding in the afternoon and Wídwine went to call on a friend. Dorn lay on his back and I slept next to him on my side, arms curled around his little body. A knock at the door woke me but thankfully he only smacked his lips twice in his sleep at the disruption.

I stood and brushed off my clothes before going to the table and arranging myself as best I could to greet whoever the maid let in. The lad who was shown into the room had the air of a household servant and to my surprise looked familiar. It was one of the guards who had let Éomer and I into Etan's house the night of Dorn's presentation party. The familiar air of nervous determination he had about him had me on my feet at once—he'd come on behalf of someone in need.

He bowed and began to introduce himself formally to me, to beg my pardon for the intrusion but I cut him off. “What is it lad? Who is ill?”

“Lord Etan, my lady, he's taken ill. He cut his hand a day ago on his sword edge and it festered. The steward sent me to fetch you, Lady, he said without physic our master will not live through the night.”

“Is he in the city?”

“No, my lady, he's returned to his seat.”

I swore in Westron. The lad spoke none of the language but my tone was enough to make him blush and shift his weight nervously. The path to Dunharrow had been hard enough on the ride down but there had been quite a bit of snow since and a freezing rain had passed only a few days since. I didn't need to ask the lad how his ride down had been. Besides dusk was already beginning to fall over the city. I had no time to waste though. I went to the fire and lifted Dorn and the fur together, wrapping him in it snugly. Inside he stretched two chubby arms—to my delight he was beginning to put on weight and height almost daily—cooed softly and opened his eyes.

“Hush Dorn. Go back to sleep darling,” I told him in Sindarin.

But he seemed to have picked up on the nervous energy in the room and began to scream, flailing his legs and arms in abject misery. I picked him up and bounced him for a moment and he calmed, clinging to me with all his strength.

“Go saddle me a horse. The tan one in the stables and bring it around. Saddle another for yourself if your mount is tired. Tell the groomsmen I've sent you if they give you any trouble and tell them it's urgent. Meet me at Lady Haroon's and be quick about it, lad.”

“Yes, my lady.”

I fetched a bassinet and laid Dorn in it. He began to scream immediately when I put him back down, reaching for me and wailing with all the strength in his young lungs. His fist curled in my hair with surprising force but I soon overcame the little fingers and covered him with blankets. I paid no mind to the screams of protest, having no time to spare. I covered him with two more blankets and then fetched my warmest cloak and boots. I left a note for Alwil telling her I'd been called to tend a patient but I had taken Dorn to Wídwine.

No snow was falling yet but an ominous chill wind swept through the cross-streets not protected by the bend of the hill and a strange quiet in the city that spoke of snow to come. The inhabitants of Edoras almost seemed to sense the coming snow and most of them had chosen to be inside, by the a fire rather than out in the streets. Dorn's screams echoed off the empty streets, making my heart and mind race even faster. The purple light of dusk made the chill seem more intense, penetrating through cloak and fur.

I walked quickly down the familiar side streets to Lady Haroon's and was quickly ushered into the parlour where Wídwine was taking tea with her old friend. Both older women rose at the sight of me. “Hello, Lothíriel! What an unexpected...” Wídwine trailed off seeing my expression.

I curtsied to both deeply. “I'm sorry to intrude, Lady Haroon but I come on an urgent mission. A servant for Lord Etan has come with news that he has fallen gravely ill. I must ride to see him and have come to see Dorn safe before I ride out.”

I bent and picked up the baby, attempting to comfort him again now that we were safely inside. He clung to me but this time could not be consoled, beating little fists against my breast in anger for how I had ignored him. I held him out to his grandmother who took him and bounced him. But she could no more console him than I. He buried his face in her locks and sobbed.

“You can't mean to go tonight!” Lady Haroon said over the sounds of the wailing babe. “A storm is coming and the path is surely already deadly treacherous at this time of year in the daylight, never mind at night.”

“I mean to go immediately.”

“Let me at least call for Fraca to escort you,” Wídwine insisted. “You cannot go alone!”

“She cannot go at all! A girl of her age, a Gondorian no less, riding through up path to Firienfield? At night and in this weather? It's madness, Wídwine, tell her!”

“I cannot wait for Fraca to return. Time is of the essence.”

“I shall ride with you then,” Wídwine said.

“No. Etan's lad will be my guide. I cannot take Dorn away from all he knows. He'll need you Wídwine. And you'll need to explain to Alwil where I've gone.”

“Lothíriel you cannot go!” Wídwine insisted, catching my arm as I turned back toward the door. “Éomer would be furious if I allowed you to go. And the debt we would owe your father if anything were to happen to you on the road, if you were not to make it safe back to Dol Amroth....”

“There is no time to argue, Wídwine, and nothing to argue about. I cannot delay.”

“Lothíriel stop! As your chaperon here I cannot allow you to go! What would your father think? What would Éomer think?”

There was a large and perhaps very reasonable part of me that screamed for me to listen to Wídwine. She was after all a native of Rohan, much more experienced with the land in winter and what she was saying was undoubtedly true.

I thought back to that first glimpse of Edoras when Amrothos had told me about the paths up through the mountains that led to the streams that fed the city and I had thought I would never be able to see them even in summer. Now I proposed to ride those same paths in the dead of winter with night falling and with only a lad of thirteen or fourteen to guide me and against the advice of someone I knew was much more experienced than I was.

How had I changed so much in a year?

I imagined what I would have said if it was Ivriniel who was telling me not to go. Would I trust her instinct over my own and stay until morning? Or Amrothos? Or my father? Or even Éomer? Éomer who had such a strange power over me, that bewitching way that his very presence seemed to fill me with an anxious desire to please him. That he would not want me to go was obvious. He hadn't allowed me to accompany him to the campaign against the Wild Men after all when any voice of reason would have told him to do so. I had obeyed him then, despite all my wishes. His was the judgment on the battlefield.

But mine was the judgment in the sickbed. As I had been when Alwil was in peril, I felt the same calm conviction come over me. By my own judgment would I act and no other's.

“I am not asking for your permission, Wídwine. I am telling you what I intend to do,” I said, my words echoing those I had told my father many days ago when it was Alwil who's life was in peril as if they were a spell that might imbue me again with the same unbending determination I had felt then.

I pushed the door back open and she let my wrist go reluctantly. I went back out to the frozen street. The lad from Etan's household was coming up the street on a horse, another was lashed to his pommel. He swung down at the gate and waited for me expectantly.

Wídwine followed me out into the bleak, cold dusk, Dorn screaming in her arms as I swung up into the saddle. “The Valar protect you, beloved one,” she said, reaching up to catch a hand and press a fierce kiss to it. “May the fates bring me back my second daughter, hale and whole.”

“I will be careful, Wídwine, I swear it.”

She whispered something in Rohirric that I didn't quite understand but seemed to be more directed at fate's ears then my own so I squeezed her hand once and then let it go. The lad and I turned our horses towards the gate. The wind whipped at my face, pulling away my cloak and I fought to keep from closing my eyes against the stinging cold of the night air.

In truth the way was trickier even than I'd imagined. Unlike the night we had ridden down from Dunharrow this narrow cut stone path was now completely obscured with snow and ice. To our left was a sheer mountain face and to the right a terrifying plunge to the valley below as we wound our way very slowly upward. Every so often the way was cut by a deep ravine, little streams that came down from the Starkhorn cut deep trenches in the path over which had been built, at best, stone bridges, at worst, little more than a few fallen logs nailed together, barely wide enough to dismount and pass with the horses. The path was icy as well and though we took it slowly my heart was in my throat with every step.

After the lad's horse slipped and nearly took what would have been a fatal plunge down the hillside I slid down from my mount and shook my head. “It's no use going forward on horseback. You'll have to turn back with our mounts,” I told him.

“My lady I cannot let you go alone. There are wolves in the woods beyond this path and with the snow that may come at any moment you could freeze to death before you reach the field.”

“I'll be fine,” I said with a confidence I did not feel at all. “They fear the flame and I'll have a torch with me and a better cloak than you have. And there's no use both of us risking death tonight when one of us is enough.”

He hesitated but I didn't wait for either of us to think better of it. I lit my torch from his and squared my shoulders against the climb. I was a little less than halfway to the plateau I gauged, another two hours walk and I would be at Etan's keep. It wasn't snowing but there was the occasional gust of wind that whipped down the mountain, stirring up the snow enough that at some points I had to stop as the world became a haze of white so dense I couldn't see where I was putting my next footfall. The snow also obscured the true path and I had to go slowly to make sure I was on solid ground and not wandering out over a ledge with nothing but snow and ice beneath me that could fall away at any second.

At one point the path narrowed to a stone bridge that I remembered from my recent descent for the old, gnarled oak that grew on the far side, roots tangled between old stones. It had seemed charming at the time, a rather romantic scene. But the recent frost had proved too much for bridge to bear the strain of the tree. One side had crumbled away, leaving a break in the path a little more than half my own height and only a sheer cliff face where the foot of the bridge had been. I could just make out the remains of it in the deep ravine below in the bright moonlight, like broken teeth in the stream. The stream below had frozen into ice many months ago but the fall to the rocks beneath would almost certainly be fatal. For a long time I contemplated my route forward, contemplating if I had the strength and materials to fashion a safe way across for myself.

A sudden sound made me freeze. The clatter of horse’s hooves were soft in the snow but I was listening acutely for sounds of danger in the muffled stillness of the quiet wind coming down the valley. I turned just as he rounded the last bend. He stopped when he saw me. In the light of his torch I could see that his face was a mask of fury. Behind him were two other riders who held back while he dismounted. He handed the reins of his horse to one of them and advanced towards me a few paces.

Éomer had never looked so much like a king to me as he did in that moment. He wore no crown but the light from his torch, and the torches of his men, seemed to gather about the golden crown of his head. The stern look, the anger, the determination in his eye—these were what had made his uncle choose him to lead a people in the aftermath of the greatest war in living memory.

“Lothíriel it's time to turn back.”

“I can't, Etan needs my help.” I didn't bother to ask how he knew where I was. Wídwine must have gone straight to find him once I'd left. As he and the others were better riders than the lad and me it had been easy work to overtake us.

“The path is too dangerous in the dark.”

“I will not turn back.”

“I will drag you back to Edoras if needs be, Lothíriel.” His voice was like the cracking of a great bough in the cold.

In the light of his torch his shadow was cast back against the path behind him. It seemed huge against the wall of the sheer mountain face behind him, a visual representation of the rage that emanated from him. If he wanted to it wouldn't take much of his strength to overpower me. It would be easy enough to throw me over one shoulder if he had the will to do it.

Temptation sprang up in the cowardly part of my mind. In his anger I felt sure that he would dare what even my father had not: to physically prevent me from my goal. How easy would it be to allow him to do so? I could imagine perfectly that he would take me by the wrist or the waist to hoist me onto the back of his horse. Once there I would be too sensible to struggle with him further on the treacherous way back to Edoras. _You would be back in Edoras, out of the wind and cold, safe. And no one could say that you didn't do all you could, no one could say that you didn't try. Be sensible, be reasonable._

But that quavering plea in my head was the voice of the girl I had left behind many months ago. “I will not submit to that.” My voice did not waver as I spoke. _I'm not asking for your permission father. I'm telling you what I intend to do._ Again there was an echo in my tone of those words from so many months ago.

Here was a man who was not my father but who had always had been able to command me. At a word I would have walked over hot coals, at a glance I would freeze in place, for a request I would accept to see him at great pain to myself. But even Éomer could not stop me in this task. I had felt a similar implacability of his own will the morning I had hidden the juniper branch in his saddlebags. The dearest voice in the world could have begged him not to go but only in vain. He was a warrior and the battlefield was an arena in which no judgment but his own could be substituted. This was my battlefield.

I was the healer and mine was the judgment.

Before he could react or I could change my mind I turned and sprinted toward the chasm. “Lothíriel no!” The shout behind me fell on deaf ears for I had already leapt. My leg bent and propelled me forward into black air.

It seemed to me that time froze for a moment as I hung over the rocks below and then the next thing I knew the breath was knocked from my lungs as I hit the edge of the breech of the other side. I had made it but just, my elbows hooked over the edge of the crevasse but feet dangling into thin air. The torch fell from my fingers into the gorge below and I screamed out as I fought for purchase on the cliff's edge, feet scrabbling beneath me against the sheer wall of dirt, trying to find any belay that might stop my descent. Beneath them the wall fell away, small stones crumbling easily as for one horrifying moment I slid backward.

A second later Éomer impacted next to me. He must have started to run the instant I had, hoping to catch me before the leap. He no doubt would have made the jump if it hadn't been for the sword and armour he was wearing. Unlike me he'd had the sense to abandon the torch even before he leaped and found purchase on a frozen root beneath the snow. I heard him hiss slightly in pain as the muscles of his injured side jerked taught against the labour of stopping his slide downwards. He wrapped the arm that he was not using to support his own weight around my waist, catching me as I slid. In another moment he managed to sling me up over the edge of the chasm so that at least my weight was above the edge. I scrambled forward on hands and feet and collapsed in utter terror, face down and panting in the snow. My breath fogged in the cold air, melting a little pocket of snow before my face.

Éomer pulled himself over the edge of the chasm as well and crawled forward. He flipped me over onto my back, hands checking my face, neck and extremities for damage. “Are you hurt?” he managed to gasp out. “Lothíriel, are you hurt?”

The breath knocked out of me I could only pant and shake my head, rolling over to gasp into the snow. He collapsed next to me on the snow, rolling onto his back and letting out a long breath of relief. We lay together for a long moment, side by side and panting in the snow. Through the thin screen of barren branches of the trees the moon and sky had never looked more beautiful. The stars were a blanket of jewels in a dark blue ocean and I felt that I had never appreciated them fully before. How glad I was to be alive that moment.

I turned my head to face Éomer. In the silvery moonlight his profile was so precious to me: the strong line of his jaw and the surprisingly soft lips outlined as clearly as if it were day. I had expected immediate anger but instead, like me, he seemed to be content to watch the clouds move across the moon for a few moments. My heart was hammering and my breath gasping.

He raised himself onto one elbow, peering down at me in the silvery light. “You could have been killed in that leap.” His voice was soft, not angry. Éomer was known for his rage but there was no trace of it in him. The fury he'd had coming up the side of the mountain he had left behind in the leap across the chasm. Instead there was only respectful terror and somehow I was somehow sure that he felt it only for me. He could have been killed leaping after me but spared no thought for himself. I had barely managed it in nothing but a heavy cloak. He was wearing full armour and a sword at his belt. And yet he thought only of the danger to me.

But perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps he hadn't left the anger behind but only transmitted it to me when he'd hoisted me over the edge of the chasm. With an anger that surprised even me I shoved him back. Out of nothing I could distinguish my own fury erupted from me like a poppy bud bursting forth with no warning. My hands found his shoulders and shoved him as hard as I could. “How dare you! How dare you leap after me! You bloody, great, valar-cursed fool!” I punctuated each sentence with a shove to his chest that he barely seemed to feel through his armour. “You are a king without an heir! Take a care with your life!”

He caught my hands in his and I struggled against him with all my strength but to no avail. Tears blurred my eyes, freezing on my cheeks almost as soon as they fell. He pushed me back against the snow and rolled atop me, pushing my hands back into the snow at either side of my head. I flailed against him, but he did not struggle back, only let me tire out without comment. When I finally stilled against him he tilted his head down, letting it rest against my shoulder. His breath was hot against my neck. It was not proper, but we were beyond such formalities. We were halfway up a mountain, alone, having leaped across a chasm together and he had had his hands over my waist to pull me up over the edge.

“Lothíriel! Lothíriel, please!” He clasped my wrists together. “Peace, peace. Lothíriel.”

I struggled against him for a few more moments before finally calming myself in his arms. “I cannot be at peace!”

“Lothíriel there is no going back.” His voice was strangely gentle, almost regretful. “There is no undoing what has been done.”

He was whispering words to me in some older language, something I did not speak, the language of the Éothéod no doubt. His voice was low, soothing, the tone he used to approach a horse who was terrified. When I too gentled under the spell of his tone. When he felt me stop resisting he stood and pulled me to my feet, brushing off the snow from my cloak as if I was a child. He went to a nearby tree and snapped off two large branches. “Do you have any bandages?” He asked.

I had already bent and opened my box of medicines, rifling through them to make sure none had been broken in the leap. I nodded and passed him two along with some spirits, which would help start the flame as well. He wrapped the ends of the branches and found some frozen moss for kindling and set to coaxing a flame to them using a blade from his boot and a small stone as flint. When he had two new torches for us he handed me one and then took my hand in his. “It's at least another hour’s climb to the top from here and from there the road must be passable or the lad wouldn't have been able to make the trip to Edoras. Step only where I step and try not to make too much noise once we're near the top. It's not uncommon for even a noise to provoke an avalanche of snow.”

I nodded my understanding.

He went to the edge of the chasm where the two guards stood. Both of them had run to the edge but neither had leapt. They must have seen that Éomer had made the leap and held themselves back. From their grim faces I could tell that both felt the weight of seeing their King in such peril.

“Return to Edoras. I will escort the lady for now.” Both seemed to teeter on the edge of protesting before thinking better of it. “Send word to Lady Wídwine that she is safely in my company.”

“Yes, my lord.”

More than once we had to stop when the wind picked up and neither of us could see where we to put our feet. It was slow going as we ascended toward the final plateau where Etan's keep lay but finally the path levelled off into a steadily uphill but at least identifiable trail. Éomer was almost pulling me along by the time we reached the crest. Only pride, his and mine, stopped him from picking me as he had that night in Edoras when he'd found me in my sodden shoes. He'd opened up his cloak and wrapped one side of it over me for extra protection but still I was shaking uncontrollably, teeth chattering loudly when we made it to the ramparts of Etan's keep. I was cold enough to accept being so close to him but not so cold that I was immune to the effect. The smell of him enveloped me: all clean horse, hair, pine and the oil used to keep saddle leather supple. Guards ran out to usher us in and the mouth of the keep was flung open, warm candlelight spilling out.

“She's come!” A female voice shouted as we were nearly pulled across the threshold. “Bema be praised she's come!”

A woman who looked to be the head housekeeper was the first to notice that their King was in their midst. She dipped a low curtsey. “My lord!” she breathed as she recognized my companion. “My lord, Éomer King!”

“Take me to Etan.” I was shivering but I managed to keep my voice and teeth from chattering.

The servants all looked to their king but he only nodded. “Take the lady where she asks. Bring her hot tea and bank the fire for her warmth.”

A girl took my cloak, sodden and dripping from the snow, and then led me up the main stairs. Éomer followed silently behind us as she led us down the hall and to the grand bedchamber that faced out over the northern ramparts. She pushed open the door and the smell and heat rolled over us like a wave crashing on the beach.

Etan lay in his bed, his eyes wide and roving but clearly unseeing. His face was red with fever and he was sweating, his breath coming fast and ragged. The servants had stoked the fire to a roaring flame and the room was like an oven. He kept trying to throw back the covers but was too weak and delirious to struggle much. The room smelled of poisonous illness and his sweat, an inhuman and foul combination that almost made me recoil back.

Instead I moved forward to the side of the bed and un-slung the case. Already fatigue, fear and the chill in my bones were falling away from my conscious thought. I pulled back the covers and took out his arm. The wound itself had been bandaged but thick, purulent fluid was soaking through and the stench of death was already upon it. Above the bandage though I could see the dark cords of blood poisoning like the tendrils of some monstrous creature reaching up over it towards Etan's precious heart.

I met Éomer's gaze. He too had come into the room and stood on the other side of the bed, looking down at his old friend. For the first time ever I thought I saw something like fear in the lines of his face. In one way or another he'd lost his parents to illness, lost Theodred too, almost lost Éowyn to it. On the battlefield he could fight back but here, against disease, he had no weapons. For a moment I felt I could see the young boy he had once been in him, unprepared for death that came swiftly and bargained with no one: a strong but sweet lad who might have wiped away Éowyn's tears for their parents but I wagered had never showed her his.

“I'll have to take the hand. It can't be saved.” I told him. “I'll take it just above the elbow to be sure there's nothing left that's mortal to him. We'll need to move fast so the blood poison doesn't spread to his heart.”

He nodded. “What do you need me to do?”

“Clean your sword.”

I called for a wooden board, spirits, boiling water and fresh bandages. I threw some herbs to ward off inflammation into one pot to steep. Later I would spend the rest of the night trickling as much of it down Etan's throat as I could but that would be a task for later. We shifted Etan over in the bed and put down a lap writing desk that I took from his bedside table.

I affixed his hand to the surface with bandages and then set to cleaning the site where I intended to cut with spirits. It was, in someway, a blessing that the man was so lost in illness that he could not comprehend what we were doing. We worked in silence. Éomer stood by the fire, rubbing spirits into his blade as I worked to clean up Etan. I got out several needles and loaded them with thread, several bandages and laid them out.

Finally I took out the small leather belt that Ivriniel had had fashioned just for this purpose and cinched it round his upper arm as tightly as possible. The belt would prevent some blood from entering the arm but not all. I still intended to cut a mortal vessel and all precautions must be taken. When the blood began to flow I would have little enough time to work before he exsanguinated and needed all arranged for me prior. When we could delay no longer I nodded to Éomer.

“Milk of the poppy?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Not with his pulse so fast and weak. He'll need to endure it and I doubt he'll remember it. He's close enough to the veil that the mortal world will not trouble him much.”

He nodded. “Alright.

“Cut through the arm only to just beneath the bone. I shall do the rest.”

Ivriniel herself couldn't have managed it better. I had worried that he might hesitate to do such harm to his great friend but he took only a moment to master himself before he set himself to do as I asked. He made it through the flesh and bone with a single effort but managed not to sever the skin or tissue beneath. Blood sprayed out over us and the bed as Etan struggled to sit up, mouth open in a silent scream of unexpected pain. Éomer was at his side at once, holding his old friend down by the shoulders so I could work. I wasted no time finding the two main vessels I needed and stitching over the top of them. Etan cried out each time I dug in the needle but I paid him no heed, focused only on finding the next thing I needed to sow over that was bleeding. Éomer did not need to be told to hold his old friend down as I worked. My fingers were soon slick with blood but I worked on heedlessly. The stain beneath me was large enough but at least it was not continuing to grow.

When I felt that there was nothing left that was bleeding too much I turned my attention to the skin. A small dagger I kept soaking in spirits for just such an occasion did the trick to take off the rest of the arm. I left myself a small patch of skin and flesh to fold up over the stump of his arm and then sowed it into place. It would serve both to protect the wound from contamination but also as padding against a bone that could protrude painfully into skin. I cut the last stitch and then wiped the wound with spirits and a past to keep out inflammation, then wrapped it in a clean bandage.

“These sheets will need to be changed I'm afraid,” I said to no one in particular as I released the little belt on his upper arm.

“I shall call for a servant to help me do so.” Éomer replied.

I had almost forgotten he was still in the room. I looked up, my own eyes glazed slightly. It felt almost as if I had been sowing in a bloody field forever and I had forgotten what it was like to see a human face or anything else but raw tissue.

Éomer lifted his old friend up in his arms as the servants changed out the sheets for fresh ones. A basin was brought for me to clean my hands in and put in the bloody equipment. I went to the fire and ladled up some of the tea into a small cup. I went and sat on the bed beside Etan, waiting for it to cool. The old man had slumped over from the pain but still his eyes moved, restless and unseeing

When the tea was cool enough I brought it to his lips and to my surprise he drank it willingly, gulping down the liquid without hesitation.

Kneeling on the bed next to him I leaned my head back against the headboard. “Valar give him grace to see the dawn,” I murmered in Sindarin.

 

 

 

 

I must have fallen asleep at some point in the night because the next thing I knew I was waking in clean sheets. Someone had taken off the blood-soaked dress and left me in nothing but my shift. By the sunlight pouring in from the window it was already late in the afternoon. I sat up in bed and pushed off the covers. A dress was hanging on the door of the dresser so I began to pull it over my head when a young lady opened the door. “Oh, my lady, you're awake! Let me help you!”

She pulled the gown over my head and began to pull the stays of the bodice. “How is your master this morning?”

She smiled. “You should see for yourself my lady.”

Etan was propped up by pillows only but even from first glance I could tell that his faculties had returned to him. The sweat from his brow was gone and so was the flush of his face. His skin was near as pale as the sheets he lay on from the blood loss but he smiled when he saw me at the door. “So here is the hero and lady who came to rescue me.”

I blushed. “Westu hal, Etan.”

“Westu hal, Lothíriel.”

I came to sit on the edge of his bed. “I hear you were up the whole night pouring this stuff down my throat. I feel obliged to tell you I shall drink it all of my own accord from now on to save you the trouble.” He gestured to the tea. “The servants won't allow me anything else until you tell them I'm allowed anyway,” he added with a wink.

I smiled. “Anything you like you can eat but I would start with a broth first to see if you tolerate it. After that perhaps a porridge tomorrow with as much beef broth as possible. You'll need your strength back but your stomach isn't likely to tolerate food just yet.”

“That's a good girl.”

“I am sorry, Etan... about the arm.”

He shrugged. “What for, lass? It's not even my sword hand after all. I shan’t miss it much.”

“Still... I am sorry.”

“You saved my life, lass, at great risk to your own... and damage to you. It's me who should be apologizing to you. If I'd been in any state to protest I never would have allowed the servants to send for you.” He bit his lip. “You coming up here with the roads the way they are... it's not worth the life of an old man like me.”

I shook my head. “Don't think of it, Etan. I made it safe enough. No harm's been done.”

With his remaining hand he took mine. “You're a good lass, Lothíriel. But I wouldn't say no harm’s been done.”

What he meant by that I couldn't fathom.

“Just rest, Etan. You need to regain your strength.”

He called for breakfast in his chambers and we took it together: soft boiled eggs, dark bread smeared thick with butter and venison sausage warmed to nearly bursting with tea so strong it stood to scald the tongue for me and a broth for him. I sat on the edge of his bed watching him work out how to use the spoon with one hand and I knew he would be all right. The fever had broken and strength was returning to him. He would live out the rest of his days in full of health and vigor.

I lingered over breakfast with Etan, andthen spent the day reading by the fire in his room. Etan had a rather impressive library for such a small seat and I spread out a few books that looked tempting on the thick hearthrug to read. The only thing I missed was Dorn's little body next to me as I found I was quite comfortable. The staff was more than attentive—bringing me all the tea and small meat pies I cared to eat, their way of thanking me for saving a beloved master. Etan slept for most of the day, waking only to sip his broth and for me to check his bandages. His body was on the way to healing but was far from wholly mended yet.

Éomer was gone from the keep. I knew that as instinctively as I knew where my own elbow was. The presence of him was not in the halls or air. There were no maids lingering wistfully in the hall to catch a glimpse of their handsome king, no young lads sharpening their swords conspicuously in the yard, hopeful that he might fancy a practice match. The confident footsteps, somehow unmistakable, did not ring out over the flagstones.

I had assumed that Éomer had gone back to Edoras in the morning before I'd awakened so I was surprised when I heard a horse clatter into the gate of the keep just before dusk and knew, somehow, that he had returned.

My natural inclination would have been to flee back to my rooms, perhaps drag a chair and prop it against the door. But that was silly of course. I had made my decision and now I would have to face the consequences. I went to the mirror and arranged my appearance as best I could. The maid had done my hair up in a simple braid and the borrowed dress was a fine simple grey that was a bit too big for me but finely made. I put on my own boots and cloak and brushed imaginary dust from my bodice.

The housekeeper and my maid had already gathered on the steps when I arrived, awaiting his arrival. She held the cup of mead out to me with a deep courtesy and I took it without remark. As the only lady in the house it was my duty to welcome him back, much though I did not wish to face him. We stood in silence, staring into the falling dark. All I could hear was the booming rushing of blood in my ears as my heart pounded out of control and yet there was a queer calm tension in my body. I felt like a string stretched too tight, anticipating that I might snap at any moment.

He came from the stables, accompanied by one of the lads from the keep. My brow wrinkled as I made out his shape in the dimness. It seemed strangely distorted and only once he was halfway up the steps and properly into the light pouring forth from the mouth of the door did I realize that he was carrying a rather fine stag over his shoulders. He had been hunting? Whatever for? There was a fine wood behind the keep to be sure but hardly a shortage of meat in the keep, giving by the number of meat pies I had demolished.

But I had little enough time to dwell on the strangeness of that. He hefted down the stag and handed it to the man who was with him. He strolled forward and took the welcoming chalice from my trembling fingers. Given that I stood in the light and him the shadow on the walk up from the stables he would have been able to see me well for many paces but he stood for a moment looking down at my face, turned up to his in the semi-darkness. It was not a moment of hesitation I would say but rather of contemplation.

Then he drained the chalice and handed it back.

“Westu hal, Éomer.”

“Westu hal, Lothíriel.”

“The lady and I will take a drink together in the study before dinner after I've freshened up.” He said to the housekeeper.

“Yes, my lord.”

I went to go and check on Etan again before dinner and found he was awake, taking a bowl of broth. I changed his bandage for the night and then poured him a glass of ale as he said none of the servants would. I took it as a good sign that he was already asking for ale but at my request he accepted that I water it down quite a bit. Éomer was waiting for me when I arrived in the study.

A fire had been built and was crackling cheerily, an obscene counterpoint to the palpable tension in the air. He was standing at the side and gazing into the flames. He'd changed into a rather formal tunic, one he must have borrowed from Etan. It was the green of the house of Eorl with silver brocade as trimming. He straightened when I entered and bowed rather formally, kissed my knuckles and then poured me a glass of the same mead he was drinking. He bade me sit on one of the chairs by the fire but then returned to his standing vigil beside the hearth.

I swallowed, and took a sip of mead for courage. “Please, Éomer, don't be angry with me. Surely you see what I did it only to save Etan. Does that not count for something?”

His voice was tender. “No, lass, I'm not angry with you. What you did was a very brave thing indeed, worthy of a song even.”

“Then why did you leave? Why won't you look at me?” I fought to keep my voice even but a little wobble of the tears that threatened me slipped through.

All the courage I'd had was spent. In the moment that I'd needed it, it had come and for that I was grateful but now, fickle ally that it was, it had deserted me. I took another sip of the mead, hoping that the pungent liquid would dry my eyes but it only made the lump in my throat seem to ache worse.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed tight in my chest as if some cold, invisible hand had reached through my breastbone to the warm centre of all I held most dear. I hadn't allowed myself to mourn the loss of him the first time. I had had the discipline, the self-preservation to push him from my mind. But to loose him a second time, because of a choice I had made seemed to be too much for me.

I wanted to fall forward on my knees and beg him not to hate me, not to dismiss me and send me away. I might have done so too if it were not for the way my throat had frozen around all speech.

“Lothíriel, forgive me, but I needed to clear my head. I went hunting because it is one thing I knew would bring me peace.” He grimaced, jaw tightening even more. “A cowardly act I know but I needed to delay... to spend one more day before I did what I knew I needed to do.”

My blood felt as icy as the Snowborn. What did he mean _what he needed to do_? Would he send me back to Dol Amroth? Banish me from Rohan for disobeying him? I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant but my throat felt too tight and no breath came out to give them power.

He seemed to know my question though. His eyes, usually as warm as a cloudless sky over Edoras at mid summer, were like two chips of icy, hard and set firm and unbreakable.

“I sent word to Wídwine this morning to let her know that we arrived safely... and that we are to be married.”

 

 

 

TBC

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Okay as always huge props to LBJ. She's 1) a miracle worker and 2) keeps me honest to the source material. Also I've really loved reading the comments from my fellow health care workers. I've been being a bit cheeky with it and it's been fun to realize that people have been recognizing the preeclampsia (PSA if you are pregnant and have any of the symptoms Alwil had you should get evaluated at the ER ASAP) and the little things like steroids for premee baby lungs and the like. If you work in healthcare, thank you for what you do. And as for the chapter... please let me know what you think, as ever! I LOVE writing this chapter. Loved it so much. And I really hope you like it too. Let me know if you liked certain parts, certain phrases or lines, everything you think... I want to know! XO Spake


	19. Chapter 19

If the grief of losing him had felt like a hand pressing me down into a misery of inaction, the shock of his words was a force more galvanizing than I could have imagined. My mouth opened and my eyes were suddenly dry. Fear and terror had restarted the heart that so recently felt as though it would never beat again to a thunderous rate. “What in the name of Elbereth do you mean by that?” The words were out of my mouth without consideration.

The expression on his face as he spoke the words was the worst thing I could have imagined. He looked as he had that morning in the stables, a man readying himself for battle. But missing was the eagerness for engagement by which I had been so struck. For all the times that I had imagined his rejection never had I thought it would take this form. His jaw was set hard, like a man bracing for a blow he cannot stop, the silent anticipation of readying oneself for pain. “Lothiriel it cannot have escaped your notice that we have spent the night together... here... without a chaperone of any kind.”

“Etan is...”

“Etan is an old soldier who many years ago acknowledged a bastard for love,” he finished for me. “Hardly the most credible witness to your reputation even when he is in his proper wits, which he most certainly was not last night.” His words were even, measured, everything that mine were not.

“No one will have to know that though! Who would tell them? Only Wídwine knows we're here and she would never...”

“Wídwine, two guards who accompanied me, anyone who saw me passing this way after you...It wouldn't take a great wit to guess where I was going in such a hurry, nor who I was chasing after.”

“Please, Éomer... you don't have to do this! No one notices me, or thinks of my reputation! I promise you they won't!”

He shook his head. “How can you say that?” For the first time he sounded almost angry. “How can you pretend, even to yourself, that that is true? You are the Princess of Dol Amroth, your father's only daughter, and a maiden. You spent the night with an unmarried man, the king of a land where the people think of you as a great healer. That, Lothíriel, is a scandal by any definition.

I was shaking my head against his words. “No one will think that of you, not with... Éomer you can't...that is... you deserve the chance of a love match. It isn't fair!” I hated the way my voice shook and my words failed me.

He came and knelt before me, taking my hands in his. “No lass, it's not fair. To you least of all.”

To contemplate what it would mean to marry him under these circumstances was unfathomable. Marriage to Éomer, if he did not love me, was too abysmal even to imagine. The pain of having such a farce of all that I most desired play out in front of me but with the core of all I wanted most removed, was a torment so dreadful that it seemed even fate could not have imagined it. How could I take his hand and let it be bound to mine, our blood mingling, knowing that his heart was not rightly my own? How could I greet him with the welcome chalice, welcome him into my bed when I knew I was taking from him the right marry the woman of his choosing?

“You leaped and I leaped after you, but please know, Lothíriel, I thought only to save your life.” He hesitated, but did not look away from my face, though it seemed to cost him effort. “I hope you do not think it was my intention to...”

I was hardly listening to him though, my mind reeling. “You cannot make me do it,” I murmured, almost to myself.

His face in the firelight was a portrait of sad resignation. “Oh, lass, there's no chasm for you to jump here, no brave action you can take to save yourself, I'm afraid. I will not drag you to the ceremony but I will tell your father what has happened, that I am willing to make any offer for your hand. The rest will be inevitable.”

Frustration felt like being plunged into too hot water, an unbearable burning over my skin. No one would think that anything had passed between us. Not between the two of us. He was too noble and I was too insipid for anything scandalous to have happened. What he said was true, that it was beyond the bounds of propriety for us to have been alone in the house. But the story itself was poor soil for a scandal to grow. Besides, what use my reputation? I did not intend to marry after all so it was hardly imperative to keep my virtue free from question.

His voice grew softer still. “I would shed my own blood to spare you this. But there is no going back from here... and I will always rescue you, Lothiriel. No matter what the cost.”

I glanced up, meeting his gaze. “Not this one, Éomer. I absolve you of your duty.”

“You cannot.” His face was implacable. “There is no force in the world that could.”

He was right of course. I had known it the first day he'd said it to me, so many months ago on the morning of Éowyn's wedding ride: _a vow from the King of Rohan_. If I had thought I would brave anything for him, marvelled at the power he had over me, what power did I think he exerted over himself? This was a man who had lived through the darkest days of the war in a land where his king was mad and his people were massacred and his only thought had been to fight all out to save them. He had endured his king and uncle having his mind poisoned, his sister threatened and found within himself the courage to endure, to fight. What threat then would be a less than happy marriage?

“You are Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, a fine woman and healer. You are your father's daughter, Imrahil's daughter. I would not dishonour you at the price of my own life.”

“But you have not dishonoured me!”

I was desperate to dissuade him. Nothing had passed between us and surely Etan's servants could be relied upon to vouch for that! There had been nothing untoward between us after all and I was still very much a maid. My honour and the honour of my house had not been encroached upon.

“I will if I do not offer for you.”

“This is absolute madness, Éomer. How can you even think of it?”

“I know this is not what you wish for but...” His smile was sad. “Come now, Lothíriel, you cannot think that I will be a cruel husband. We are friends are we not? You said as much yourself. And believe me when I swear to you I will do all in my power to let this limit you as little as possible. As for your work, of course I will do all that I can to ensure you can continue. If you wish to travel to Gondor for much of the year I will make no qualms. I would ask that you return for ceremonies and festivals and official occasions that call for a queen but other than that I will do my best to respect your freedom. And as for my marriage rights...” He hesitated. “I would never force myself on you, Lothíriel.”

I said nothing, feeling suddenly sick. Bile rose in my throat and my stomach threatened to revolt. A queen only in name then was how he imagined me. A mannequin of a woman who could be brought out for ceremonial occasions and then packed off back to Gondor, out of his way: a head to support a crown, hands to offer him mead, and then disappear. Perhaps he would lie with me enough to give me a son but then would he find to warm his bed when I was out late at a birth or off in Gondor?

I stopped short at the thought of a child. What would it be to have a son of Éomer's? Unbidden came the now familiar image of a soft blond head that might bury itself in my skirts, little fingers that might some day grip a toy sword and then still later a training dowel. I could imagine myself with perfect clarity hoisting an excited toddler onto a first pony and holding a firm little body on my lap to read a story book. What price would that be worth to me?

This might be my only chance to have children, _his_ children. Was that not something I wanted more than almost anything in the world? Maybe I would feel as though I had stolen some precious jewel until the end of my days but I would never be strong enough to stop myself wanting as many children as he would give me. And perhaps he would grow to feel something like love for me over the years. He thought of me kindly, fondly even. He had asked to be friends even after he had known my feelings for him, despite the awkwardness it must have caused him. Why could that not grow into something more? If I were to give him sons, an heir to his throne might that not be enough to...

And could I not also grow to be happy in that kind of a marriage? Would not in some moments of joy, with our children around us, with his hand on my shoulder, I be able to forget this part? Moments where it wouldn't feel as if I had stolen him from another, taken from him the woman he truly desired? Perhaps as the years went by and his affection for me grew I would be able to let my own wane slightly and this sordid beginning would fade away, become less painful. If I let time and routine wear away at it like water over a stone perhaps my feelings for him would begin to lessen their hold on me. Could I not allow myself even the trappings of happiness?

_No_. The answer came back with perfect clarity.

Slowly, I raised my eyes to meet his gaze. “I will not marry you.”

He said nothing but he stood and let go of my hands. He walked back to the hearth and picked up his own mead.

“I will not marry you. I will not submit to this.” I repeated, almost as if to reassure myself.

He turned his head away, looking into the fire. He swallowed deep in his throat and then said, “You cannot prevent me from doing what I believe to be right, Lothíriel. I will have to trust your goodness, that you will forgive me for it.”

“I will write to my father as well,” I said, voice hoarse. “I do not think he will see things the way that you do. And even if he does not... I will not submit to this plan.”

Ivriniel, surely she would help me convince my father. She would understand that it was impossible for me to marry Éomer... my mind reached in a thousand directions, searching for anything that seemed solid, actionable, something to help me reason my way out of this.

“You must do as you see fit, Lothíriel,” he said quietly. “I will return to Edoras tomorrow morning and then come back to fetch you in a few days when Etan is healed. You will send word when you're ready. I can wait to write to your father until you return and then we will send the letters by the same horse if it is your wish.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

It would give me a few days to think best how to phrase my intentions. _I'm not asking for your permission father. I'm telling you what I intend to do._ _I will not submit to that._ Again I had found in myself some part of me that could not be transgressed, a bedrock truth that I would never betray. _I will not marry you_. At the cost of all I had fought to save first Alwil, then Etan. Now it was myself I intended to pay any price to preserve. Marriage to him in these circumstances would be the end of me, of all that I had fought to become in the last year.

Perhaps a nobler woman would have thought more of Éomer, the love match I was taking from him. He was a good man, one who had lived through dark times and fought bravely to end them. He deserved a wife that loved him and that he loved in return. But if I am to be truthful in this account, it was myself alone I thought of in that moment. Not Éomer, not Nibeneth. Only myself. I would not allow myself to be destroyed, not without doing all that I could to prevent it.

He hesitated. “For tonight, Lothíriel, I hope you can bring yourself not to treat me as your enemy.”

I took a deep drink of mead and shook my head. “I will never see you as my enemy, Éomer.”

“I never shall be.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next day Éomer left before I was out of bed. I woke before dawn but waited until I heard the sound of his horse clattering out of the gate before I rose and dressed. Etan was awake when I found him, out of bed in a chair and taking tea. I knew from his face that Éomer had spoken to him after I had gone to bed the night before.

“You should never have come, lass. The life of an old codger like me is hardly worth your suffering.”

I smiled and shook my head. “Etan don't say such things. Not even in jest. Now come let me tend to your bandages.”

And so I passed several quiet and relatively peaceful days. I woke in the morning and took breakfast with Etan, then often went for a walk in the woods. The snowstorm had died away and there was a blanket of thick snow on the ground. I walked for hours with the company of two guards Etan sent with me whenever I was outside of the walls of the keep. I found it strange that I was sent with guards, no one had ever bothered with them before. Did they think they were protecting the future Queen of Rohan? But those were the kinds of thoughts I carefully kept away with the help of books during the day and a glass or two of mead at night.

I was almost loathed to admit how well Etan was healing. The suture line was holding perfectly with nary a sign of inflammation or suppuration. But the more quickly the wound closed the more quickly I would need to return down the mountain and face the reality that waited for me there. How long I would have stayed a coward, pretending Etan still needed my tending remained unknown, for on the third day reality came up the mountain to find me.

Just as I was sitting down to take breakfast the housekeeper opened the door. “Lady Alwil of Gondor and Rohan is here to see you, Lady Lothíriel,” she announced.

I stood as Alwil strode through the door, pulling off her gloves. “Westu hal, Lothi.” Her tone was as crisp as the puff of winter air that clung to her coat, her jaw set in a tight line.

“Westu hal, Alwil.”

“Good,” she said sharply, surveying my breakfast. “You'll need your strength. It will be a cold ride back to Edoras and we'll start directly after breakfast.” She sat and began helping herself to some toast and a boiled egg. “I've had one breakfast already but I shall have to take more to fortify myself as well.”

I did not bother to argue. Her tone let me know that there would be no use in trying to find an excuse for delay.

After breakfast I said my goodbyes to Etan and left instructions on how to clean the wound and change the bandage with one of the maids. The housekeeper promised to send word early if the wound showed any signs of infection again and said they were making plans to transport him down the mountain to Edoras in a few days when he was stronger. I embraced the old man and then went to go meet Alwil. I donned a cloak borrowed from Hema, as were all my clothes there, and Alwil put hers back on, along with her best winter boots. “Where is Dorn?” I asked. “Is he not missing you?”

“I've found a wet nurse for him for the day. He will be fine between Gallen and Widwine.”

She had brought two of Wídwine's men with her as companions to escort her up to Etan's residence plus a spare horse for me. They rode with us as we left the keep. She didn't speak as we walked our horses out of the gates cutting a path through the snow. But once we were far enough down the lane that we could be sure we would not be overheard by any of the servants of Etan's, she turned to the guards.

“You may keep us in sight if you must, but ride behind us by enough that we may speak in private,” she instructed them.

With a nod the two of them fell back, leaving us to ride ahead.

“You're a bloody idiot,” she said when they were out of earshot. “Has anyone ever told you that?” She spoke with calm precision and real anger.

“Alwil I...”

“I was content enough to watch without interference up to this point, but I will not stand idle while you do yourself real damage, Lothíriel, in the face of all reason,” she hissed. “You cannot expect me to do so.”

“There's nothing to be done, Alwil. The worst has come to pass after all. What damage can I spare myself?” To my surprise the words came quickly, snapping out into the cold air and matching her harsh, brittle tone.

“The worst has come to pass?” Her voice was incredulous and angry. “The man you love asked you to marry him. And you are doing everything you can so as not to allow him to do so. What kind of twisted logic you've dreamed up to justify that to yourself hardly interests me anymore, Lothi.”

I didn't try to deny her accusation. “How long have you known I loved him?”

“Long enough. You were not very subtle about it, in your own way.”

“Does everyone know?”

“Widwine does of course. And your aunt. I'll doubt if many others will have guessed though. Your signs are clear enough, but you have to know what you're looking for to see them. Your brother and Fraca certainly haven't guessed to be sure, neither has Elinior even or most of the other women of Edoras I'd wager.”

“How did you see it?”

“You stop yourself from looking at him, you shrink back when he reaches for you. As if you're afraid of what will happen when he touches you, that something will break inside.” She frowned. “But even for you this is extreme. You do as much as you can to deny what goes on inside your mind, to present the world with the opposite of who you are and hide as much as possible. But the woman you are shines through, Lothíriel, and she always will.”

“Alwil... you know I cannot live as I wish. What I want... it's impossible for me to obtain.”

“Why? Because you think you're still that same little dutiful girl in the shadow of your aunt and clinging to your brother's elbow at any function? Unsure of how to act or what to say and terrified that someone will speak to you? You think you're still friendless and vulnerable?” she spat the words out. “If you still think all that is true, despite all the evidence to the contrary... then maybe you are still a coward.”

Tears were trickling down my face now, freezing in the cold air. “He doesn't love me, Alwil.”

She regarded my tears coldly, offering no comfort. “Have you asked him?”

“Asked him what?”

“If he loves you?”

I stopped short, a little sob hiccupping in my throat. “Alwil it's plain to see...”

“It is not plain to see! You only imagine it to be so!” Her voice would have been a shout if she had spoken above a furious whisper. “You are your only impediment left, Lothíriel. You are the only one who still sees the little mouse of a thing you were when you arrived. There is no one left standing in your way—not me, not Amrothos, not your father and not Ivriniel—and still you tell me the door is barred, that you cannot move forward.” Her body seemed to radiate the tense anger of her words. “I will always love you, Lothíriel, but I'll not be proud of you if this is the path you choose.”

I opened my mouth but the lump in my throat prevented words. The only sound that came out was a pathetic little stuttering whine of misery. “I can't...” I managed. “I cannot marry him if he doesn't love me. Don't you see what torture that would be?” The words came out in bursts.

Her mouth was a hard line. “You cannot know Éomer's mind. Nor his heart. Not until you've told him your own.”

I shook my head against the tears and the memory. The sick shame made it impossible for me to meet her gaze as I forced the words out between clenched teeth. “In Pelennor... at the party... I wrote him a letter, told him what I felt. And then I heard him telling Éowyn he was to marry Nibeneth.”

“You wrote him a letter?”

The sobs rose again and I could only nod. This time she was more tender. She took me reached over and grabbed my hand as hot salty tears dropped down over my cloak.

“Oh Lothi... I'm so sorry.”

She let me cry until my throat was raw and my tears had faded on their own to little dry sobs. I felt better once the wave had passed, strangely calm and at peace. I had cried and shamed myself all that I could, there was nothing left to fear from this conversation.

. “You're alright my girl,” she said comfortingly. “It's no shame to cry.”

I tried to smile. “Ivriniel says that tears are wasted if they don't fall on the dead.”

“Your aunt knows many things, which means she's bound to be wrong about some of them. The effort it takes to hold tears in is the only thing that's wasted.”

I wiped my cheeks with one sleeve. “I think you might be right.”

“Of course I am. But I am sorry, Lothíriel. I didn't know what happened between the two of you in Minas Tirith. I'm... I am proud of you for telling him how you feel. But you should ask him too... what he feels for you.”

“Alwil I don't want to know the answer to that question.”

“Why not?”

“Because I already know what it is. To hear him say that he is fond of me, that he respects my brothers and my family, that he feels kindness and admires the healing work I can do... it would be unbearable. I love him. I want to warm his bed and bear him children.” I blushed at that but got the words out without too much hesitation. “I do not want to hear he is fond of me in return. Can you not understand that?”

“He does not look at you like a man who is thinking of your brothers or your work. Certainly I wouldn't call it _fondness_ that I see in his gaze.”

“What do you mean?”

“When he dances with you, Lothíriel, takes your waist in his hand he looks like a starving man sitting in front of a feast he knows he hasn't the right to taste. Even if you will not admit to that, you cannot deny it seemed plain enough that Éowyn considered you already her sister in everything but name at Pelennor.”

I shook my head. It was Nibeneth whom she'd been overjoyed to hear would be her sister.

“He did not offer for my hand until he was obligated to.” I bit my lip. “I... I would have said yes to him the day I met him and he did not offer for me until it would have cost him his honour not to.”

She shook her head. “What did your letter say exactly? What were the words you used?”

I grimaced. “I was not ambiguous. I told him what I felt... that I loved... that I love him.” In some strange way it was a relief to say the words aloud, to have another human know the truth after so many months of containing it inside me. “I love him,” I repeated.

She bit her lip. “You wrote those words to him?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure he received the letter?”

“He came to me after to let me down afterward.” That morning in the stable before I had left Minas Tirith I had stopped him before he could tell me my feelings were not returned but still I winced at the memory of it. “He would not have known he needed to rebuff me had he not received the letter.”

She considered for a long moment. “I can't make sense of his actions. There is something that you are missing, Lothíriel. Can you not see that?”

“Alwil I told a man I loved him and he told me that my feelings were not returned. He now offers for my hand but only out of a sense of honour. Éomer is both honest and honourable—all of this is in keeping with his character. There is nothing inconsistent in his actions.” I said. “Even if you do not wish to believe his motivations.”

She considered for a moment and then suddenly frowned. “Did you say you overheard him tell Éowyn he was to marry Nibeneth?”

“Yes.”

“Well he hasn't done that now has he?”

I blinked. How had that detail escaped my notice? In the months I had been in Dol Amroth studiously trying not to think of him it hadn't seemed important that the wedding had never been announced. And as time had worn on I had almost forgotten that he hadn't. The compulsion I felt not even to think of the letter, the feelings I had avowed to him, the shame of it all had kept me from examining that particular aspect of the story with much scrutiny.

“I suppose he hasn't. But still... I... I wrote him a letter to spell out all that I felt, that I feel for him and when he came to speak to me he said he understood why I would want to leave Edoras given his plans to marry.”

She tapped her chin in thought. “I never heard anything about an engagement between the two of them being formed, much less broken. And Nibeneth would hardly be likely to keep it secret, far less for this long.”

“Maybe he changed his mind in the end.”

Her frown deepened. “It seems unlike him, to set his cap at a lass and then back out at the last second. A tenacious man is our Lion of Rohan once he gets his teeth into something.”

I shrugged. “He must not have asked her though.” I finally reasoned out. “Because otherwise how could he be free to offer for me?”

“How indeed?”

The fallen away bridge I had jumped had been rebuilt with a few logs over the gap. No doubt in spring a more permanent solution would be arranged. We wound our way in silence down the mountain and to Edoras, taking our time on the dangerous path. In the sun I could appreciate the little streams flooding down to Edoras to feed it's ponds and pools even in the depths of winter. They were beautiful, delighting the eyes and the ears as they splashed over hidden rocks beneath the frozen canopies they made.

It was already turning to dusk as we had left only after the noon meal having so many things to arrange for Etan's care. The purple blue of the sky against the mountains was like a painting, the torches of Meduseld were lit and the standard hung limply indicating that her King was in residence. The hall looked like a flaming crown upon the brow of the city.

“I will not threaten to tell him myself, Lothíriel that you love him. The decision is yours to make. But you are a fool if you do not. I tell you so with all the love I bear you,” she said as we came to the gate.

I did not reply as we came through the gate and then turned up the hill, towards her residence. The guards took our horses and when we entered the house it was blessedly warm and already I could smell dinner. Wídwine was waiting for us with cups of hot tea and to bustle us to the table to take our fill of mead and warm food. She cupped my face once and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Wash your face before dinner, Lothíriel. You've salt on your face beloved one.”

She put Dorn on my lap and encouraged me to eat but I only picked at my food, having no appetite despite the long ride. Inside me there seemed to be a buzzing energy that would not relent. I could barely sit down through dinner and paced the parlour when we took drinks afterward. I bounced Dorn some but could not sit down for a game of Hazard with Fraca. Wídwine and Alwil did not remark on my pacing but watched out of the corner of their eyes with concern they couldn't entirely hide. Even Fraca couldn't help but notice my restlessness and tried to tempt me to various games to no avail.

Finally though I could not contain myself. “I'm going out for a walk,” I announced to no one in particular.

“Would you like company?” Fraca asked. “I can walk with you if you like.”

“No!” Wídwine and Alwil answered in unison.

I barely had thought for the puzzled look on Fraca's face. I went to get my cloak and boots and I was out in the cool night air. I walked with determination up the hill without my pace slowing. I mounted the steps of Meduseld and the guard greeted me. “Is the King in the hall tonight?”

“No, my lady he's at the stables.”

I nodded and turned back down the hill again.

The stables were so quiet and dark that for a moment I thought the guard had been mistaken. The only sound I heard at first was the snuffling breath of the many horses as I slipped in through the darkened door. But then I saw that there was a lantern burning down at the other end, near where Firefoot's box would be. My footsteps were nearly silent on the packed earth as I walked down the line of boxes. With all the horses in residence the stables were as warm as if a crackling fire was burning and I pushed my cloak back off my shoulders. At the door of the box I hesitated only a moment to gather my courage before I pushed the door open.

Éomer stood in the centre of the box, brushing Firefoot absentmindedly. The horse's coat already held a high and glossy sheen but he continued to run the brush over it. He must have heard me coming for he did not register surprise when the door opened. He was dressed simply, in a clean white shirt with no tunic and britches and boots appropriate for riding. His hair was tied back simply and he wore nothing else but the sword at his side. He looked tired. Even in the dim light of the lantern I could see the hint of shadows beneath his eyes. He tried for a smile though when he saw me, managing a worn but kind expression. “I thought those might be your footsteps. Westu hal, Lothiriel.”

“Westu hal, Éomer.”

I slipped in and drew the door back closed behind me, leaning on it.

“I would have liked to fetch you myself, Lothíriel, the road down is treacherous.”

“Alwil came to escort me down. We were careful.”

“I'm glad to hear that but still... If... That is to say if you are to be Queen I would ask that you take more...“ He bit off his words. “But we can speak of that another time. I don't wish to argue with you now about your safekeeping. I am only glad that you arrived safely in Edoras. I shall thank Alwil for escorting you.”

He came around Firefoot, ducking under the great horses neck and putting up the brush. “Have you come to give me the letter to your father? I have not yet composed my own so it may be a day or so before I send it.”

I shook my head.

“What then?” He asked, looking quizzical.

My hands clenched together behind my back as if I was trying to encourage myself, or pull myself up against the wave of fear and dread that was washing over me. The question that had been burning in my mind and bones since Alwil had asked it finally came bubbling up.

“Éomer, why did you not marry Nibeneth?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Another cliffhanger! Sorry I didn't get this out in time for Christmas but please leave me a review anyway? It's all I want for Christmas after all. Huge thanks as ever to LBJ and all those who reviewed the last chapter! You should obviously know by now I read your reviews obsessively and I love, love, love to hear from you! Next chapter should be... explosive! XXO Jess


	20. Chapter 19

Whatever he had expected me to say, it was clearly not that.

“Marry Nibeneth?” His brow furrowed, almost as if he thought he had misheard me. “That Gondorian lady who took us on a cruise on the Anduin? Why should I marry her?”

“I... I... that is I overheard you telling Éowyn in Minas Tirith that you would. ”

Suddenly his puzzlement seemed to change entirely into something much more focused. His jaw clenched slightly, and there was a keen determination in his eye that I had seen there only when he was concentrating on something very important: the next blow in a bout, a horse running out of control, sharpening his sword for a blow. “What do you mean by that?”

“You were speaking to Éowyn... in my father's cellar. know I should not have listened in but...”

“Lothíriel, what exactly do you think you overheard me telling Éowyn?” His voice was calm and even but somehow with a dark hue to it, like the sea just before a mighty storm.

“I wasn't intending to eavesdrop, my lord I only... that is I went into the cellar to fetch a bottle and overheard you when you came in. I know I should have spoken up but I was frozen in place. You told her you intended to marry Nibeneth and she congratulated you on the choice. It was after I sent the letter of course, else I never would have burdened you with knowledge of my feelings.” The last part I said in quite a rush, eager to make him understand I never would have sent the letter after hearing him tell his sister his plans to marry another.

“You overheard me telling Éowyn of my plans to marry? In the cellar of your father's house.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“After you had sent me a letter?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He swallowed. “And what exactly did this letter you left me say?”

I frowned. “My lord, you've read it...”

I was suddenly aware of how close he was standing to me and how dry my throat was. He was always taller than me of course but now he seemed to tower over me, mesmerizing me with the fierce and piercing look in his eyes. Normally as warm and blue as a summer sky they were now like chips of ice. “Humour me Lothíriel.”

“I... I laid my heart plain to you Éomer. I told you of my feelings for you.”

“What feelings are those?”

“My lord I do not wish to repeat...”

“Lothíriel, tell me what the letter said.” He hesitated, then added, “please.”

“I...I told you that I love you.” I made myself meet his gaze to say it, though it cost me dearly to do so.

The hiss of his breath was one of pain, as if I had slapped him. He looked away from me and his jaw clenched several times against apparently building rage. He took a moment to master himself before speaking again. “And after you sent me this letter, you departed Minas Tirith thinking I intended to marry Nibeneth?” His face was a mask of fury. “I barely know whether to laugh at you or shake you by the shoulders, you bloody fool.”

I frowned. “I overheard you telling Éowyn that you intended to marry the Flower of the Court. She's very fair and well titled. It would be an ideal match for you.”

“How could you imagine that I intended to share my life Nibeneth? A woman that I've seen behave with little thought or regard for the women and people around her, including you?” His voice was a shout, ringing off the walls of the stable.

I was suddenly angry in my turn. “How could I imagine it, Éomer? You really wish to ask why it is that I can imagine you might propose to a wealthy and politically advantageous Gondorian woman who also happens to be the kind of beauty that comes only once in a generation?” My voice almost failed me, trying to get that harsh truth out, but I pushed on. “What in all of Gondor or Rohan combined would make that such a far-fetched thing to think?”

“Because I'm in love with _you_!” he exploded back. “Bema, how can a woman of your intelligence be so bloody daft?”

He did not wait to hear my rejoinder. One hand flashed out with speed almost too fast to be believed, catching my wrist and hauling me none too gently the last few steps into his arms. He pulled me to his chest, lips crashing down on mine like a wave at high tide. Fire raced though mind and body as our lips met. I had mused about what being kissed by him would feel like often enough but the experience of it was something unimagined. The heat of his body made my skin prickle paradoxically as if I was in a snowstorm but warmth pooled almost immediately at the crux of my thighs. It was not a gentle kiss, nothing tentative or shy about it. Into it Éomer poured his frustration and anger at the many months we had been estranged.

I opened my mouth, tilting my head back to receive more of the passion that seemed to run wildfire between us at every point we touched. And there did not seem that we could find enough places to touch. Each of us pulled the other to them with an erupting violence. The fingers of the hand not locked onto my wrist tangled in my hair while the other arm let go of my wrist only long enough to slide around my waist, pulling me more fully against the length of his body. He tilted my head back and plundered my mouth making me gasp and shiver against him. He pushed me back until my back met the stable wall and I was trapped between his body and it. He lifted me almost off my feet against it, crushing me and capturing my hand, pushing it against the wall at my side, the other hand still at the base of my skull, keeping my head tilted up to his ministrations.

He broke the kiss, leaving us both panting from the suddenness and the breathlessness of it. I chanced a glance up at his face and found his eyes were hooded with lust. He looked at me with a hunger and desire that matched my own screaming need. I wanted him to push me down in the hay right here, to lift my skirts and satisfying himself by filling the aching need that was growing within me. And his expression, made it clear that his thoughts had turned to something similar.

He brought one hand to my face and swept a thumb across my swollen lips, then let his head fall forward with a groan. “Bema, forgive me, Lothíriel.” He pushed back from me and took a moment to compose himself, sweeping back his hair. “I shouldn't take such liberties.”

I felt frozen against the wall, rooted to where he had put me. How could he not see what I wanted in my eyes? How could my face and body not betray the thoughts that were burning their way out of a mind suddenly on fire with lust?

I swept my own hair back, that which had come out of its pins when he'd tangled his hand there. I let my fingers trail the path his thumb had taken.

_And if I want you to take liberties?_ The question remained unasked.

“You are in love with me?” My voice was hoarse. “How can you be?”

“How can you not have seen it? From the day that we rode out to deliver that child together I've intended to make you my wife. What other woman have I met whose bravery and goodness matches yours? Who else could I want to be the woman who shares my bed, who will mother my children and be Queen of my lands than the girl I found running into the horse paddock to help save the sister of her maid and a babe she'd never met?”

The desire in his eyes was overtaken by another emotion now, tension flowing again into the firm line of his jaw.

“I've shown you every sign of favour, Lothíriel. I wore your flowers at my sister's wedding, danced with you first, asked you to sit next to me at the tournament of Pelennor, where the Queen should sit. At every opportunity offered I sought out your company and your favour. And you ask if I am in love with you after all that? If I intend to marry another woman?”

Here was the rage that I had been told he was famous for. His brow was a sharp line of fury and he looked ready to draw his sword if that could have helped. The hand that clenched the top of the stable partition was white knuckled and his voice was low and dangerous.

“I... that is I assumed it was because of your alliance with my father... because of political ties with Gondor...”

His laugh was a sharp sound. “You thought I was showing favour to you as your father's daughter?”

“It did occur to me that...”

“The favour I showed to your father was taking you back to your Aunt's house that first night when we went to deliver that babe,” he snapped, voice laced with wolfish and deadly seriousness. “Rather than pulling you down in the tall grass on the ride back to Edoras and declaring my hand by lifting your skirts.” I swallowed, overcome suddenly by the image of it. “Oh yes, Lothíriel, it did occur to me to do so. You innocently chattering away on the back of my horse, feet trailing in the grass, breath sweet with mead and one soft little hand around my waist... I thought I'd never been so happy, never wanted a maiden more. Never wanted to dishonour myself more by kissing you.”

A little shiver ran up my spine at the thought of that. Valar, truth be told I probably would have let him. He seemed to know my thoughts because he continued.

“And that was hardly the end of my shameful thoughts. I could have carried you off to some secluded meadow the morning of Éowyn's wedding ride, or kissed you in the hall outside your door when I brought you back from flower picking. Valar you cannot imagine my thoughts when you held out that silly basket and told me I could _take anything I liked_. Or the night I found you on Etan's ramparts and wanted to kneel down on the flagstones and ask for your hand under the stars. Or any of the other times when we were alone together and the urge to kiss you was all I could think about.”

He had moved back only slightly from me at first but now the free hand went around my waist again, pulling me flush to him. He bent his head again but this time the kiss was gentle, tender. His lips were soft and he touched no other part of my body. He drew back and brushed my hair out of my face.

“The deference to your father was waiting until now, Lothíriel to ask you to marry me.”

Elation seemed to break open in a heady rush in my chest. Éomer wanted to marry me. Éomer wanted to marry _me_! My wits could barely comprehend it. How, how could this man have chosen me of all women to be his companion? How was it possible that I would be allowed to hold him, take him within me, bear him his children and share in his griefs and triumphs? It was a feeling of joy so unadulterated as to seem to be dangerous, as if I was drinking a wine too strong and heady for mortal tongues but yet could not bring myself to stop.

“You wish to marry me? Truly? And not simply because you think the night we spent at Etan’s will cause a scandal.”

“I should have asked for your hand that first day we rode together. I wish to have you, Lothíriel, every bit of you that you give freely.” His words sent a shiver down my spine. “Say you will marry me.”

“I will. Éomer of course I will.”

He turned my palm over and kissed a sensitive part of my wrist, making me shiver. “Say it again, my love.”

“I will marry you, Éomer.”

He rewarded me with another gentle, almost chaste kiss on the mouth. “Say it again.”

“I will marry you, Éomer.”

His fingers went to the laces at the front of my bodice, beginning to pull and I felt like my heart might just beat out of my chest. Despite the air of the stables, warm and close with the bodies of so many horses in from the winter, my whole body felt both too hot and too cold at the same time. It was as if I had been plunged beneath and icy spray and sat too close to a fire at the same time. But to my chagrin he thought better of it and instead let the laces fall. I made a little gasp of disappointment and protest that made him smile. “Not like this, Lothíriel. You deserve better than to be tumbled in a stable. At least not for the first time that I tumble you. Besides, we will have many years for me to catch you alone in a stable and finish this thought.”

I bit my lip. “I shall hold you to that as a promise, my lord,” I said, voice hoarse.

He swallowed and rubbed a hand over his face. “You are not making it any easier for me to do the right thing by you, Lothíriel.”

“You mean the right thing for my father.”

“For you honour.”

“I can't say I care much for my honour right now.”

“I can't say I do either. But I am intending to make you my Queen and I won't start off by bringing you shame.” He stepped away. “I've waited for you this long, I can wait a little longer. Now come out of the stable and let's walk back before I find some way to justify changing my mind. Bema but it's close in here and I can't think with the warmth of you so near and enticing.”

He put my hand on his arm and pushed open the doors, leading us out into the moonlight and frigid air of the winter night and the relatively public space of the path back to Meduseld. There was no one on the path currently and in the dark we would hardly be likely to be seen from any of the windows facing the path but still it was at least more public. The apex of my legs still throbbed and I could still smell him—all soap and horses and something indescribably masculine—but insane desire to pull his lips down on mine and try to overcome his prudence seemed less likely to be an imminent possibility at least.

He folded my arm in his and turned back up the hill toward Wídwine's residence and Meduseld. “Quite apart from the fact that your powers of observation need some work, Lothíriel, your Rohirric does as well. What I told Éowyn was that I intended to marry “the flowered lady of the court” which was an allusion to _you_ my Flower-Garlanded Maiden.”

“You called me the flowered lady of the court to your sister?” I asked, mortified.

He spoke the words again in Rohirric to show me the difference. “It sounds much nicer in my language.”

“Éowyn must think I'm a fool. I hope you didn't tell her the whole embarrassing story of my name.”

“Hardly. If anything she's more apt to think that now that you've accepted my hand in marriage.”

I gasped and clapped a hand over my mouth, suddenly horrified. “Oh! She must think I rejected you! How she must hate me!”

He shook his head. “I hardly think she hates you. She was sorry for me of course. But no one could blame you for not accepting me.”

“What do you mean?”

He frowned. “It's not an easy task, being Queen of Rohan. Have you... you have considered that haven't you, Lothíriel? If you haven't and need to reconsider of course I will understand.”

I frowned at him, stopping suddenly on the path and turning to face him.

“I want you so much, Éomer. I would not balk at any task to have you.”

“I would not wish for my love for you, for my desire to make you my bride, to make your life more difficult.” He said carefully. “Don't doubt, my love, that I will do all in my power to ease the weight of the crown you are accepting, but it will not be an easy job. Part of the reason I waited so long to ask you was that I couldn't be sure that you would accept to be Queen.

“That morning when you gave me the juniper branch in the stables before I rode out against the Wildmen I... well I felt confident in your feelings for me as a man. But you were raised away from the court, by your choice, how could I think that you would accept to live such a public life for my sake? Even if you were fond of me, it was much to ask.”

I gaped at him. “You doubted I would accept to be your Queen? When I left to go back to Dol Amroth instead of Edoras it was not for my own sake. To be a ghost in Meduseld, fed only on the scraps of affection from our friendship would have been enough to keep me by your side. I could have watched your children by another woman grow and still have been satisfied not to leave you. I left to spare you the burden of my love. I thought you knew that I loved you and did not want your first days of marriage tainted by that awkwardness. I feared you would grow to resent me for the obligation my feelings put on you. Do not doubt that was the only reason I did not ride back with you. If I love you enough for that, if I was strong enough to endure that what other challenge can there be that will surpass that?”

“I am not an easy man to live with. Or to love. As a king I will have other obligations that I must meet and will have to put the country first with my time and efforts. As a warrior I will have to ride out for many days and may come back wounded or simply exhausted.” He hesitated. “And as a man I have many faults: I am quick to anger... jealous... proud and authoritative.

“As a queen I too will need to put the country before us. As a healer I will be called from your bed in the middle of the night and will go. And as a woman, my own faults are many: I am retiring and shy, not used to public speaking or planning parties. I've let others tell me what to do my whole life and am no natural leader. But since I've met you... I'm able to say and do what I want. I am not afraid of you, Éomer – not your anger or your jealousy. You say you want to consume me and I wish to be consumed. You make me more of what I am by it.”

“Valar, Lothíriel... you are radiant.”

I laughed and turned back down the path. “Oh, my lord, you could have had a fairer queen and you know it.”

“Nibeneth? That girl doesn't hold a candle in comparison to you.”

“My lord you flatter me with your preference but even you cannot deny that she is the fairest girl in Gondor.”

“I do deny it.”

“Éomer you must believe I am content with your love. You need not...”

Now it was his turn to stop and make me turn to him. “You are a very beautiful woman, Lothíriel. You may say that my love makes me less objective but I say that you have simply not been sufficiently told. Of the two of us I know my own judgment to be more fair. I was clear enough with my preference for you that the entire rest of the court knew my intention, even if you did not. Fighting off your potential suitors, sometimes literally, was something of a hobby of mine this past year.”

Of course I knew that men sometimes fought so-called 'courting bouts' in the training fields, meant to establish who had the right to pursue some young lady. But it would never have occurred to me that one would ever be fought over my hand. “You fought a courting bout for me.” I gaped.

“Lothíriel I fought a dozen at least. And those were only the ones that I could persuade to meet me on the field. Those Gondorian lords who pretended not to know what I meant when I called them out and then continued to dance with you were my true torment.”

“But I've always been... that is I was always treated like a precocious child. As I told you, I was never even presented at court.”

“And so Éowyn's wedding was the first time society got a chance to see what they were missing out on. Believe me, Lothíriel even in those girlish frocks you used to wear it was not only my blood that was stirred at the sight of you,” he said with a frown. “It was torture to think of it when you returned to Dol Amroth. I knew now that the court knew what a jewel had been kept from them others would try their suit after me. I consoled myself with the fact that you had seemed reasonably fond of me and still rejected me. Is it wrong that I still wanted no one else to have you? Even if I could not.

“I feared most some retiring Gondorian lord, someone quiet but intelligent who could afford to give you what you wanted-- quiet life in the countryside away from the court – but who could read all the same books you can and understand them. Bema but I hated the image of that, someone who you would let hold you, understand you.”

I thought of how I'd felt at the idea of him taking another woman to bride. How I'd wanted to pull Nibeneth's hair right out when she flirted with him. “No, my lord, I think I understand you. But how did you not know how I felt? I spelled it out quite plainly in my letter.”

“I never received it.”

“What do you mean?”   
“Well, where did you leave it?”

“In the books my father sent you the night of Amrothos' engagement. He sent me to his study to fetch some books he meant to send to you and I took the opportunity to put it between the pages.”

He seemed to struggle to remember for a moment before his frown turned into a smile. He pulled me to him, shaking with laughter. He gave me a fond kiss. “You took the wrong books Lothíriel.”

I pushed back to examine his face. “What do you mean?”

“The books Amrothos gave me were the wrong ones. So I sent them back to your father unopened. As I recall they were some very dry things about the history of the fishing practices of the Haradrim so it's no wonder your father hasn't opened them in the meantime. I wonder that you didn't notice the titles and know they weren't something I would have interest in.”

I gaped. “You really never received it?”

He lifted my chin for a sensuous kiss that lasted long enough to make me blush and pull back, glancing around to make sure that we were still unobserved in the cloak of darkness. “If I had received it you must know I would never have left you this long without my name upon you and still a maid. Valar but I wanted to kill the men who danced with you, who didn't know you were mine.”

“How can you joke about that, Éomer? I can't believe it never reached you.”

“There's nothing to be done about it now lass. And I'm not joking in the slightest. You'll see I'm not tomorrow when we set to arranging our wedding. I want you, Lothíriel and if you will have me there is not a force in the world that will stop me from claiming you.”

“Do you really think it's still in that book?”

“You'd better hope your father doesn't interest himself suddenly in historic fishing practices.”

I blushed to the roots of my hair. “Oh he wouldn't open something addressed to you! Surely!”

“In the hand of his own daughter? It would be his fatherly duty, not just his right.”

I gaped. “Oh I must get it back at once!”

He gave me a chaste kiss. “Don't worry, I'll find it when I go to see your father to ask for your hand. I'm sure you're in no danger of him reading the book in the meantime.”

“Oh, Éomer you mustn’t read it though! It's the romantic musings of a girl in the throws of... that is it's sure to be much too...”

“Don't be ridiculous, you'll not keep me from reading it, my sweet. Put that from your mind. It's my compensation for leaving you with Wídwine tonight rather than hiving you off to my bed directly.”

Éomer had led us through the city to Alwil's residence through a clever series of back alleys , designed to keep us out of the main streets where someone might recognize one or both of us. Finally we turned up the small winding and steep alley that led to a small little charming gate that led into Wídwine’s back garden. We stopped at the gate for a moment and I looked up at him.

“And what of my compensation? For being left here?”

“This.” He pushed me back, pressing me between the cold stone and his warm body, crushing me down as if he meant to press me into his chest. His hands tangled in my hair again, tilting my head back so he could ravage my lips.

He pulled back, shaking his head but smiling. “Who would have thought that cool exterior hid such passion? And it's only me who will ever know the truth of how you come apart so well in my hands. Valar what have I done in my life to deserve such a gift.”

With much coaxing Éomer managed to persuade me to actually open the gate and go inside, then shut it behind me. _“You'll freeze if you stay out in this cold much longer,_ _my love_ _.” “I would be warm enough if you only kiss me again.”_ But he was unfortunately too well schooled in strategy to fall for that more than once. I was loathed to be parted from him, irrationally afraid that if we I closed the gate between us, I would wake to find that this had all been just a dream or that something else might come between us.

Wídwine and Alwil were still in the parlour when I returned and both stood when I entered. Both considered me for a long moment as I stood blushing and smiling and not quite able to meet their gaze before Wídwine, grinning from ear to ear, stood and bowed as she might to the Queen of Rohan. When I said nothing to contradict her, only shook my head, blushing still harder Alwil rushed forward to take my chilled arms and pull me toward the fire where Dorn was sleeping. “Come, sit down and we'll find something to drink in celebration. I'd say you should warm up after such a walk but you hardly look as though you need it!”

Fraca who had been reading by the fire looked up from his book. “What are we celebrating then?”

“Lothíriel is to be engaged.” Alwil's expression was of infinite patience and infinite frustration.

“Oh? Congratulations, Lothíriel! Who is the lucky man then?”

“ _Who_ do you think?” The tone of Alwil's voice let it be known the frustration was winning through.

Fraca looked genuinely confused. “Do I know the man then?”

His wife's expression was unbelieving. “You know what, Fraca, why don't we just see who turns up in the morning looking for her?”

Wídwine touched my lips, which were indeed beginning to swell and sting slightly from all the unusual attention they had been subjected to. “I think only my finest bottle of mead will do to calm those swollen lips!” she said with a wink that made me blush to my toes.

Alwil pulled the last bedraggled bit of hair from my braid and let it fall free. “I think we can start getting you used to wearing the Rohirric styles tonight unless I miss my guess. He'll want to see you in them I'm sure.”

I was blushing and smiling so hard I could barely speak. “Yes, I rather think I shall try one out tomorrow.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Well this chapter is obviously dedicated to everyone who posted that they wanted to bash the two of their heads together for all the constant misunderstandings and hard-headed refusal to sit down and talk to each other... though secretly I know u all love the drama :) don't even try to play. Thanks as always to LBJ (who loves you very much, and got this chapter back in record time but as always with her usual awesome edits and insights). Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Please, please, please let me know what you thought of this one. Any parts you blushed at or loved in particular? XO Spake

**Author's Note:**

> TBC: Please, please, please drop me a line to let me know what you think! I'm open to any and all suggestions and I particularly want to know what you think of the new characterization of Lothiriel (and Eomer once we truly meet him in the next chapter!). What do you think her motivations are? What do you think makes her weak or strong? XO Spake (Also: Lady Bluejay of the other big fanfiction site did me a huge solid by beta-reading this and my other story available there Ugly Duckling of Dol Almroth! She is the BEST and you should check her out if you like this story)


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